Lost
by Nylah
Summary: Danny's friends are missing. Danny's life spins out of control when, in his search for them and himself, he find himself being viewed as a suspect rather than as a victim. With no one but his sister to help him, Danny tries to hold on to his sanity. No PP
1. Adrift

A/N: Edit 7/2/2009: Chapter has been re-edited. Basically, I made it flow better and corrected some inconsistencies and mistakes. I may go through the story and do more (when I feel like it), because the earlier chapters don't match the last ones anymore in the sense that my writing has changed over the past one and a half years.

Reviews are appreciated. If you are confused about something or have any questions, please ask. I found that questions and/or comments keep me on track. I always reply to signed reviews.

**Story warnings: depression, alcohol abuse, possible language.**

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom.

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**LOST**

**Chapter 1: Adrift**

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The dusty road stretched out before me, the grass on the side of it yellow from the lack of water, the few trees standing a little further away looking dry and twisted, as if trying to grow despite the hostile landscape. Other than that, a rocky ground, hills, shrubs. I looked back at the trail behind me, the trail I had been following for the past hours. It was hardly visible from here and if I hadn't just walked it for a few hours, I wouldn't have noticed it from down here.

The road would be better, it meant cars and people. People going somewhere, maybe offering me a ride someplace where I could get something to eat. My stomach grumbled. I hadn't eaten in at least two days, though I couldn't be sure as my mind was a bit foggy about it.

The road. Left or right? The decision was harder than it seemed, as I couldn't quite see what the consequences would be of my choice. Finally, I simply mentally flipped a coin and chose right. It didn't really matter where I was going, as long as I kept walking. The road had to lead somewhere.

Mentally ticking off the classic stages – denial and anger – I decided I had now arrived at depression. I was making progress at a fantastic rate here, because it had taken me only two days to get there. It was also the only positive thing I could find in it, being depressed and all. Acceptance was still a long way off.

My anger had been... violent. My temper had flared, and in a bout of rage I had destroyed the perfectly good chair in the cabin, lifting it into the air and smashing it against the wall. It had splintered, and in my clumsiness I had managed to stumble against it and gash my right arm from elbow to wrist. My rage had died then, as quickly as it had come.

I had sat on the floor after that, staring at the blood flowing out, wondering what would happen if I just left it. Would I bleed to death? Would it matter? Would there be people that missed me? It was that last thought, that and the fact that I was starting to feel light headed, that had made me get up and stumble to the bed in the corner, tear a piece of the dirty white sheet and haphazardly bandage my arm. I might die from an infection now, but at least I wouldn't bleed to death.

After that, I had searched the cabin for food, only finding two cans of beans, rusty with age. I wasn't that hungry. I sat on the bed for a while, trying to figure out what to do, and finally decided that I needed to get out of there, if only to find something decent to eat. It had been surprisingly difficult to come up with that thought.

Once the decision was made though, I was quick to put it into effect. I got up, walked to the door and right before opening it, I caught a glimpse of me in a mirror that was hanging in the far corner. I had somehow missed the thing in the two days I had spent there moping, so I stopped and looked at myself. The mirror was old and dirty, but I could still make out my features.

Messy black hair, empty blue eyes. Black eye, too. I brought my hand to my face, touched it and winced. Whatever had caused that, it must have hurt. Maybe enough to knock me unconscious. White t-shirt with a red oval on it, and some other red spots that clearly didn't belong there. Blue jeans, ripped, showing bruised knees. Red and white sneakers. About sixteen years old. I felt older.

Abruptly, I turned around and left through the door, out of the cabin, into the hot summer air outside. I was somewhere in the woods, a clearing with a narrow track leading God knows where. The cabin had once been green, but was now gray, it's paint peeling off. The windows were broken, and in fact the door was broken as well. The place had been ransacked a while ago, long before I arrived. At least, I that was what I thought. No way of knowing for sure.

I had walked the trail for about two hours and the landscape had changed. The trees had thinned until the woods were completely gone, and the hot sun had burned down on me, making me doubt my decision to simply walk away without knowing where I was going. When I had finally arrived at the road and the promise of civilization, it had brought me both an immense feeling of relief and a new dilemma, namely choosing a direction. I had slowly mulled it over in my head, standing there by the side of the road, and finally had chosen right, because it was downhill.

As I was walking, I went over the things I knew in my head. It wasn't much. The cabin. The bruise at my left eye. The sore feeling all over my body. And the secret that was buried deep down inside of me. I shivered and for a moment felt cold. Whatever happened, I shouldn't tell anybody. I had to keep my secret at all cost.

I think I must have been walking for about another two hours, before I finally heard a car approach from behind me. I stopped and turned around, facing it, hoping to get a ride. I raised my hand and stuck out my thumb, the international signal for hitchhiking. Sure enough, the car stopped, and a middle aged man with graying black hair and a thin mustache leaned out the passenger side.

"Need a ride?" he asked.

I noticed he slurred his words somewhat and bent over to have a look at the driver. As soon as my head approached the window, I smelled the beer coming from the car and I stepped back warily. The driver was a younger man, blond, very muscular, smiling happily at me.

"This is a quiet road, son," the first man said, "You may not see another car for hours. We're your best bet."

He kept smiling, but his dark eyes held no mirth. Still... I didn't like my chances much, but he was right. I hadn't seen a car in two hours, it was almost noon judging from the sun, and the temperature was still rising. I needed to get out of there.

"Where are you headed?" I asked, stalling.

"Amity Park, where else," the driver said.

I nodded, making a decision. "Me too. How far is it?"

I walked to the back of the car and got in, pushing some empty beer cans aside. This was probably a bad idea, but there was no other traffic on this road, so chances were we wouldn't hit anybody. The only thing the driver had to do was keep the car on the road. I'd get out as soon as we reached the outskirts of the town.

"Ten miles, give or take," the first man said, turning in his chair to stare at me.

I didn't like the way he looked at me at all, so I pressed myself into the corner, ready to open the door and bolt should he make a move. The driver laughed, took his foot off the brake and slammed it down on the accelerator. The car jumped forward, and I hit my head against the window. The first man grinned, reached in front of him and took out another beer. He offered it to me, but I just shook my head. I was pretty sure I wasn't old enough to drink.

"Don't be impolite," he said, and although he was smiling, it sounded like a threat.

Hesitantly I took the can from his hands and opened it. Being thirsty, I took a small sip and grimaced. I didn't like the bitter taste much, but it did quell my thirst a little so I decided to just suck it up and drink it, as there seemed to be nothing else to drink in the car. I took a large gulp, then put the can down and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. The man was still staring at me, his eyes steadily shifting from my face to the can and back. I gulped, and, trying to distract him, I asked him his name.

"Terry," he said, and then, nodding to the blond driver, "Frank. What's yours?"

I should have known it was a bad idea to ask them their names, they'd want to know mine next. I blinked and, trying to buy time, took a large gulp from my beer.

"John," I said.

The man smirked and then waved at me, encouraging me to drink the rest of it. I didn't want to, so I took a very small sip, pretending to take a large one. Those first few sips had left me slightly light headed.

"Well, _John_," he said, "What are you running away from?"

I said nothing, but instead looked at the dials on the dashboard. Seven more miles to Amity Park. Terry saw me doing it and laughed.

"You're a piece of work," he grinned.

Suddenly he leaned closer, grabbing the front of my t-shirt in an unsuspected move. I squeaked and let go of the can of beer, which fell to the floor. From really up close, Terry looked even more menacing, and I started to think I should have foregone the opportunity to get somewhere in their car. Slightly cross eyed, I looked at the small scar next to his left eye.

"Are the police after you?"

I shook my head vigorously. Not that I knew of.

"What'd you do, some stepfather whack you or something?"

I nodded, not knowing what else to say. He let go of me and I sank back in my seat, tugging at my t-shirt to straighten it. From the corner of my eye, I saw the beer still slowly pouring out of the can on the floor, soaking the mat. Better there than inside of me, I decided. Beer was not my thing. I'd get something decent to drink when we reached town.

"So, you're all alone then," Terry said, "What are you going to do?"

Shrugging, I looked outside the window. We were passing trees and some houses in the distance with long driveways. Mailboxes at the side of the road, clustered together, with large painted white numbers on them. Five more miles to go.

"I'll tell you what you're going to do," Terry continued, "You'll be looking for a place to stay, but you won't find any. You'll end up sleeping under a bridge or in the park, where either the police will get you or someone will pick up up for some fun, if you know what I mean. You'll try to get a job, and you'll find out they're not hiring punks with bloody t-shirts and a black eye. You'll try to steal clothes or food, and you'll get busted and if you're lucky they'll call the police and won't beat you into a bloody pulp. That's what you're going to do."

I remained silent. I hadn't thought about what I'd do once I reached Amity Park. My only plan at that point had been getting away from these two. They were bad news. I looked at my bandaged arm and remembered the rage. Maybe I was bad news too.

"What are you suggesting," I said finally.

He shrugged and for the first time turned around to watch the road in front of us, wiggling a bit in his seat to get into a comfortable position.

"I'll give you some clothes," he said, "Get you some food. You'll owe me. We'll take it from there."

Again, I remained silent, slowly examining his proposition, turning it around in my mind. The scenario he had suggested wasn't very appealing. I could very well end up that way. Terry was offering me clothes and food. And a debt. I didn't know what I was getting into, but I surmised that owing Terry would be a bad idea.

"I don't know," I said, "You'll want something in return. I'm not sure I'll be able to give it."

He shook his head. Four miles.

"I'm the best you can get right now, kid," he said, "And don't worry, I won't molest you. I'm not into that kind of thing." He chuckled. "I just need some help with a few things."

Three miles. I could see the beginning of the suburbs in the distance, houses were closer together now. Frank was still driving at high speed, swerving a little on the road, but otherwise going in a straight line. Terry touched his arm and pointed at the speedometer. Frank slowed down a little. I guess he didn't want to attract attention with all the beer in the car and inside of him. Terry turned around again.

"Well?"

Two miles. Now was the time. I could just open the door and let myself fall out of the car, or I could wait for a traffic light. That'd look real good. Boy in a bloody t-shirt, running from a car. The police would arrest me within the blink of an eye, throw me in jail and then start figuring out what to do with me. Not an option.

"Alright," I said, "Whatever you say."

I sat back and relaxed somewhat. Terry shot me a stern look and faced the front again, clearly checking Frank for making the right decisions in the heavy traffic. I wondered why they took the chance of being stopped by the police with all that beer in the car, and decided that the chances of getting caught must be pretty slim around here.

Frank wormed his way through traffic, turning and twisting through town. I had no idea where we were going, but the houses became shabbier and the roads dirtier. Car wrecks were standing next to very expensive looking Corvettes, overflowing dumpsters next to a playground with screaming children, a few boarded up houses. Frank stopped at the curb next to a house that looked like an old warehouse converted into apartments.

Frank and Terry stepped out of the car, and I followed them up the steps to the entrance of what must have been a nice apartment building once. Not anymore. The once ornate door had its paint peeling off and the tiled hallway was filthy with dust and grime. It was also dark inside, and I could hear loud voices somewhere in the back. The doors to the first floor apartments were open, and a large, muscular man stepped out of one of them, looked first at Frank and Terry and then at me. I cringed a bit.

"Drugs," I thought apprehensively, "They're selling drugs."

Terry turned to me, grinning.

"It's not what you think," he said as if reading my mind.

I decided to postpone judgment for the moment, knowing how appearances can be deceiving. We went up the stairs to the second floor, where the apartments had no doors at all and I could see inside completely bare apartments with writings on the walls and empty beer cans scattered about. The floor consisted of bare wooden planks, and there were dark spots on the wall as if water was leaking through. Frank spoke for the first time.

"Come with me," he said, "I'll get you some clothes."

Not left with much choice, I followed him into one of the apartments, and he started rummaging through a box in the corner. Most of the clothes he got out were to big for me, but finally he managed to find a relatively clean pair of jeans and a gray shirt. He threw them at me and I caught them.

"Change," he said.

I took off my torn jeans and bloody t-shirt and saw his eyes go wide. I looked down at myself. Three rather nasty looking gashes right across my chest. Bruises everywhere. Underneath the bruises, older scars. I stretched a little. Didn't hurt much.

"He got you pretty good, didn't he," Frank said and his eyes traveled up to my arms. "You work out some, huh?"

I didn't know how to answer that, so I stayed quiet. I nodded, though, to give him some sort of answer. My silence prevented him from asking any further. Quickly, I slid on the gray shirt to hide the injuries and then put on the jeans. They were a little to wide for me, so I took the belt from my old jeans and put it in the new one. Didn't want my pants to suddenly drop down to my knees. A sense of deja vu hit me at that moment, and I stared at the wall for a moment, but then I dismissed it.

When I was done, he beckoned me to follow him down again and we entered one of the ground flour apartments which actually had some furniture. Frank strode right through the living room all the way into the kitchen. An old woman was sitting at a table, smoking. Her long gray hair was hanging loose, and she squinted at me through the smoke.

"Hi, Grace," Frank said, "This boy is hungry. Have you got some of that soup left?"

She scowled at him. "What am I, your servant?" she asked and then gestured to the stove. "In the pan. Heat it up."

Frank walked to the stove and turned it on after peering in the pan to check the contents. I stood in the doorway, not quite knowing what was expected of me.

"Sit," Grace said.

I sat down at the table.

"Gotta name?"

"John," I said.

Grace shook her head. "Already gotta John. Everybody's always calling themselves John. Be more original, kid."

I shrugged. It didn't matter to me. Frank was stirring the soup.

"How about Mike," he said, "Or Alan. We don't have an Alan yet. Or Harry. Or Bert. Or..."

I waved my hand. "Alan will do," I said.

Frank grinned again, and I wondered if he was retarded. He was way too happy all the time. Maybe it was the alcohol. I wondered if alcohol would have that effect on me too. Make me act like a moron.

Frank stuck his finger in the soup and judged it to be warm enough, so he handed me a bowl and tossed me a piece of bread to go with it. I ate it as quickly as the hot liquid allowed me and then got up for seconds. Grace was watching me the whole time with piercing gray eyes.

"So," she said, "Alan. Where are you from."

Beside me, a shadow appeared in the doorway, and I looked up to see Terry standing there, looking at me quietly. I remained silent and shrugged. Grace leaned closer and grabbed my wrist, her bony fingers digging painfully in my skin. I had to let go of the spoon.

"Have you ever been in any kind of trouble before?" she asked, "Are the police looking for you?"

I slowly shook my head, not knowing if that was the right answer. I didn't know what they were looking for, a criminal, or someone with a clean sheet. Grace smiled.

"Good," she said, "Then we can use you."

She let go of my hand and ruffled my hair so that it fell into my face. I wiped it away again and looked irritably at her.

"To hide your black eye until it heals," she explained, "That way you won't attract attention."

That made sense. I still didn't know what they wanted me to do though.

"How old are you?"

I turned to the speaker, Terry, in the doorway. "Sixteen."

He nodded, turned around and left. I turned to my soup again and was just about to put another spoonful in my mouth when Grace started poking my arms, pinching my biceps.

"Good," she said, "Strong."

For some reason, I blushed. Grace cackled when she saw that and I looked down at my almost finished bowl of soup. I was starting to really dislike her. But the soup was OK. When I finished it, Grace shooed Frank and me out of the kitchen. We left and went outside to sit on the steps in the sun. In passing, Frank had grabbed another beer and had offered me one to, but I refused. Unlike Terry, he wasn't offended by this, but just made a vague gesture implying something along the line of 'suit yourself then'.

"So," I said, "What's going on here?"

I really needed to know what I was getting into. I was grateful for the clothes and the soup, but there were limits to my gratitude. If this was a drug gang, I was out of there and damn the consequences. Frank laughed his silly laugh.

"Nothing much," he said, "Just some sports fans coming together. You know."

I shook my head. I hadn't a clue what he meant.

"Is it... drugs?" I asked.

Frank frowned. "No, of course not," he said, "That'd be stupid. Police are all over the place. Drug dealers get caught all the time. What we're doing is... legal. Sort of. We're supplying cheep medications to sports schools, is all."

Medications. Right. I looked at him, his pumped up arms and legs, and I understood. Not drugs. Steroids. So these idiots could look even more idiotic. I was prudent enough not to say that though. I could see, however, how this was a low risk operation. The police were always hunting the drug dealers. They couldn't care less about people who wanted to sculpt their bodies into something that would need a size XXL. And neither did I. If people wanted to do that to themselves, that was fine by me. I got up and looked around.

"I'm going for a walk," I announced.

Frank waved his hand, a wide gesture, be my guest. "Be back tonight," he warned.

I put my hands in my pocket and turned them inside out. "No money," I said.

Frank smiled, reached inside his pocket and gave me a five dollar bill. "I like you," he said, "Alan. Get yourself a Nasty Burger. On me."

I blinked in surprise at him and then pocketed the money. Without thanking him, I turned around and started walking. Down the street, past the playground with the screaming children, a busy road with lots of traffic lights. I walked and walked until I finally reached the park. I looked around somewhat and decided to climb the hill and just sit there for a while. It was still very warm, and I wondered what day it was. Not a school day, I decided, looking at the children playing in the park. At two o'clock, they still would have been in school. Maybe it was Saturday. Not a weekday. Way to many adults in the park, free from work.

Gently, I touched the bruise on my face and winced. It hurt. I leaned forward and let my hair fall in front of it, wrapping my arms around my knees. I rocked back and forth a little, contemplating the wonder of a warm breeze against my bare arms. My clothes weren't entirely comfortable, but at least I was inconspicuous this way.

After a while I got up again and wandered around town some more. I passed the school, Casper High School, some shops, the mall. In the distance, I could see a large sign reading 'Nasty Burger', but I passed it. I didn't feel like eating there. Instead, I walked on through a nice neighborhood with large houses, circled back to the park and finally set course to Terry's place again, buying a hot dog on the way.

Frank was gone. I entered the house and stopped in the hallway, trying to decide which way to go. I opted for Grace in the kitchen. She'd probably be able to tell me what to do next. As I entered, I saw not only Grace, but also Terry sitting at the table. When he saw me he got up, stepped closer and grabbed me by my new shirt, pulling me close. Must be a hobby of his.

"Where have you been?" he demanded.

I blinked. "Taking a walk," I said, "Checking the place out."

He grunted and let go of me. Grace's face was impassive. Terry pushed me out of the door.

"Find yourself a place to sleep," he said, "Upstairs. Look around. The whole building is mine. Just try not to take a bed that's taken, or you'll regret it."

I believed him. I went up the stairs and checked the rooms there. One was empty, and one had boxes in it, one of which at least, I knew, containing clothing. In the far corner there was a bed, but it had some clothes thrown onto it so I gathered that one was taken. I left and ascended the stairs to the third floor.

Here, one of the doors was closed. I tried it, but it was locked, so I moved to the next one. This one was open, but I heard voices inside so I quickly skipped it and made my way to the back of the house, wondering about the strangeness of the place. It seemed that people were living here, somehow, housed by Terry. He seemed the boss around here, ordering everybody, including me, around.

The last room was quite large, and at least five beds were standing in it, close together. They looked unoccupied, so I just sat down on the one in the far corner, as far away from the window as possible. There were no curtains, and the setting sun was shining in, setting the room on fire.

The bed had a bumpy mattress and an old blanket, but I didn't mind. I took off my shoes and laid down on it, staring at the ceiling, my hands behind my head. Suddenly I was very tired. My swirling thoughts became random and I felt my eyes close, drifting off into a dreamless sleep.


	2. Trouble

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**LOST**

**Chapter 2: Trouble**

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A week later, I was still living with Terry, Frank and Grace. There were others there too, drifting in and out, and a few boys my age looking like runaways. Two of them occupied beds in the room I had chosen for myself, the others were in another room on the same floor. They only slept there, they were gone during the day. Occasionally, I saw them playing a card game in the evening outside on the steps, or inside on one of their beds. 

One of them was indeed called John. He looked insulted when I asked if it was his real name, so I left them alone. They left me alone too. They didn't seem to like me looking at them. Most of them were bigger than me and I'd have expected them to tell me to look elsewhere, but instead it was them who turned their heads away. They avoided me. When I asked Terry about it, he looked at me pensively and told me to look in the mirror.

I didn't understand at first. There was nothing to see, really. My hair was a mess, way too long, hanging in my face to hide the fading bruise on my left eye. Ordinary looking pale face. Blue eyes. No expression in them. I frowned at myself and tried to smile in the mirror, but the smile clearly didn't reach my eyes. They were empty, void. They would be. Shrugging, I left the mirror alone and returned to the kitchen.

"Well?" Terry asked.

"There's nothing wrong with me," I said.

He shook his head, reached behind him and grabbed the shabby green backpack I had been carrying around all week. I took it from him, turned around and left. There was nothing wrong with me. But I wouldn't want me looking at me either.

It was still warm outside, as it had been the whole week. It was August and the schools were closed for the summer, hence all those children who were running around everywhere all day. There didn't seem to be much children my age around though. I guessed they were either on vacation of working someplace.

Like I was, in a way. Terry had given me fifty bucks to get around, and I was trying to spend as little of it as possible, not knowing when I'd need to get the hell out of there. I didn't know what was going on in that house, but with all the people coming and going, rooms that were sometimes inexplicably locked and Terry, hanging around the house all day, drinking beer, it had to be more than just illegally supplying prescription drugs to sports schools.

I had no plan. I was thinking about that as I walked through the streets, the backpack bouncing on my back. I had no goal, no reason to live. I just existed. But I couldn't bring myself to think about my future, as if something was preventing me to do so. I just kept going, expecting, hoping that something would come my way, like Terry had come my way in that beer loaded car of his.

The street in front of me was quiet, and I was just passing some warehouses when it happened again. I felt my body go cold, and although it was very warm outside, a blue mist escaped my mouth. I panicked. There was nowhere to hide this time. Frantically looking around, I spotted an alley across the street, and I ran for it. Hiding in the shade, I let the green bag slide to the ground and pressed my back against the brick wall, closing my eyes and trying to suppress the shivering. I didn't want to attract attention. I had an almost obsessive need to hide, to not face that what was making me feel that way.

I heard a loud crash coming from one of the buildings on the other side of the street, and a loud voice bellowing something that sounded like 'Beware!', and then, suddenly, it was gone, and I was warm again. I straightened, pulled up my backpack once more and continued as if nothing had happened. Pretending nothing had happened, I was good at that.

I arrived at the first sports school around noon and entered without bothering to go to the reception area. They knew me by now, so the bored, gum chewing girl only glanced at me in passing, not acknowledging my presence at all. To her, I didn't exist. I stepped into the office in the back, pulled out two packages from my bag and placed them on the desk. I stared at the man sitting behind the desk, another one of those muscular types, until he looked back at me to acknowledge that he had indeed seen me deliver the stuff. I turned around and left.

I did two more deliveries that way, and I was just returning to what I had started to call 'home', when I was suddenly surrounded by a group of what I can only describe as gang members. Two were in front of me, and I heard at least two more behind me. They had tattoos and baseball bats. I didn't like the combination.

"Who are you?" one of the boys in front of me asked, obviously the leader.

He was tall, at least a head taller than me, with short brown hair and a nose that had at some point in his approximately eighteen years of existence been broken. I felt a twinge of fear rise up in me. My black eye had almost faded away, the numerous injuries I hid under my t-shirt were nicely healing, the clean bandage around my arm almost no longer necessary, and I wasn't planning on getting hurt again.

I thought about his question. It was a very good question, actually. Who am I, who are you, who are we all? But I surmised he wasn't asking about my place in the universe.

"Alan," I said.

He stepped forward and pushed me. I stumbled backwards somewhat until I bumped into the guy standing behind me. I quickly looked back to find that I had indeed bumped into a solid brick wall. A very muscular solid brick wall. What was it with these guys, anyway.

"Well, Alan," the leader said, "You're trespassing."

I failed to see how that was possible, but I was wise enough to keep my mouth shut. Silence has always been my best defense. I certainly wasn't going to hurt him. I was afraid, however, he was going to hurt me. And then I was saved.

"Alan!"

From across the street, John approached and pushed the leader out of his way. That took some guts, and I looked at him admiringly.

"He's with Terry," he said and grabbed my arm.

The gang moved out of the way, miraculously dissolving into the street. When I looked back, the brick wall and his companion were gone. John pushed me down the street and into the next one.

"Thanks," I said.

"No problem."

He let go of my arm and we continued walking to Terry's house in silence. I glanced at him a couple of times, but he stared straight ahead, so I left him alone and started wondering about how Terry's name was enough to scare these guys away. I took us about five minutes to get there. Finally, when going up the steps to the front door, he turned around to face me.

I tried to look friendly, and I must have succeeded because he said, "We're going out tonight, wanna come with?"

I nodded and smiled. He gave me a piercing look, then abruptly turned around and entered the house. I followed at a slower pace and walked into the kitchen, finding, as always, Grace there, sitting at the table, reading the newspaper. I walked to the refrigerator and got a soda, briefly glancing at the small picture at the bottom right corner in the newspaper she was reading.

I stopped and stared. It was a picture of a girl with black hair and a pale face, heavy eyeliner giving her a spooky appearance. But it was her eyes that caught my attention. They were looking at me defiantly, angrily, as if she didn't like being photographed. The caption beneath it read 'Still no sign of Samantha Manson and her friends'. Grace looked up.

"Do you mind!" she said, annoyed.

I left.

"Go clean the backyard, do something useful!" she called after me.

I grumbled a reply and did what she said. It wasn't like I had anything better to do.

That night, after dinner, five of us left the house to wander around town. We weren't allowed in any bars of course, but John, who was eighteen and had a fake ID, bought some beer at a liquor store. We went and sat in an empty playground, surrounded by high buildings, houses, and a huge blind wall. I got to know them a little better.

There was John himself, acting as the temporary leader of the pack, with a tiny mustache as if mimicking Terry. Tall, slightly muscular and a devil-may-care attitude the others tried to copy. He claimed to be working at the Nasty Burger, but if he was, he certainly had a lot of free time.

Small George with his red hair and his squeaky voice, not looking a day over fourteen but claiming to be sixteen. He just laughed when I asked him what he did for a living and grinned at Julio, Hispanic, who for some reason we all called Julie, which he hated. I guess it had something to do with his long black hair and his long eyelashes, making him almost look like a girl.

"It's not fair," he said, annoyed, "You don't call Alan 'Alara' or something, and he has long hair too."

"That's because Alan doesn't look like a girl," Aiden, the fifth member of the group grinned, "And he can't play the violin as prettily as you do."

Julio smiled mischievously and winked at George. Aiden, arrogant and claiming to be of Irish origin, punched him and said 'Julie, Julie' to Julio and then ran away laughing.

I felt strange. Somehow, they included me in their circle, generously letting me in and share part of their lives with me. They seemed to have forgotten about my eerie eyes, or I had managed to drive away the empty look in them. We were just chatting and goofing around and generally having fun until some people chased us away, threatening to call the police on us. Laughing, we ran away.

I learned they were all runaways, for various reasons. They were making huge stories about how bad it had been where they had been living, but I wondered if that really had been the case. They came from all over the country, and had all somehow drifted into Amity Park, settling at Terry's place for a while. Terry let out his beds to anybody as long as they could pay. I did ask them where they got their money from, but they wouldn't tell me and I didn't press the matter. I should have.

When it got later it became more and more obvious that they were drunk. I was starting to feel a bit uncomfortable. They'd given me beer also, and like before in Terry's car I pretended to drink from it, taking only small sips and every now and then pouring out some of it on the ground when they weren't looking. Still, as the evening progressed, I was starting to feel light headed and a little over confident. Which of course was my undoing.

"Hey," John said as we were sitting on a bench in the park, "I think we're out of beer, guys."

They all started grinning and I didn't understand. I was happy enough though, it seemed to me they'd had quite enough.

"Come on," John said, "Let's get some more."

As one man the other three got up and turned to me. I let myself slide off the back of the bench I'd been sitting on and tried to interpret their speculative looks at me.

"Are you in?" John asked.

I shook my head, not knowing what was going on. He laughed.

"I saw you pouring your beer on the ground," he said, "You're the most sober one here. You're in, buddy, whether you like it or not."

They left and I followed, curious and afraid of what they were going to do, but confident I could just get out and go back home if I didn't like it. We walked out of the park, joking, pushing each other and generally scaring away more law abiding people. Not that there were many of those about this time of night. It was close to midnight, and I was starting to feel tired.

We walked for what seemed to be ages, before John motioned us to stop. He sauntered ahead and peered around the corner of a building. Then he turned around and beckoned us to follow.

Across the street was another liquor store, brightly lit, with bars in front of the windows. It was still open, but the owner, a small, thin man, was already pulling in the flags of some beer brand that were hanging at the entrance. John started fishing around in his jacket and pulled out a black cap. Julio pushed a dark blue one in my hands, motioning to me to put it on. I did.

In retrospect, it was blatantly obvious what they were planning. But my brain hadn't been functioning very well in the past week and the beer didn't help. I followed John into the store. The owner eyed us suspiciously, staring me straight in the face, obviously seeing I was way under age. He shouldn't have allowed me inside. It was about the only excuse I could find for myself afterwards.

I remained at the entrance as John approached the owner. He pulled his cap deep over his face and in a quick motion, pulled out a knife and pressed it against the man's throat, pushing him against the counter. The man quickly swallowed a few times and remained quiet, his eyes darting from John to me and then back to John again.

"Quick," John hissed to me, "Grab some more beer!"

I froze. John pressed harder. A tiny red spot appeared on the man's throat and blood trickled down into his collar.

"Do it!"

I started moving. First thing I did was pull the cap down until I was sure the security camera wouldn't be able to record my face. Not that that was any use, the owner had gotten a pretty good look at me when I entered. I dashed forward, grabbed two sixpacks and wanted to rush out the door again.

"More, you idiot! More!"

I wasn't thinking anymore, too shocked at what I was doing. I turned around and grabbed two more, holding the lot of them against my body. As I turned to leave, I saw John reach out with one arm and open the cash register, grabbing some cash and then shoving the owner violently behind the counter. The man wisely hadn't uttered a sound the whole time, letting us do whatever we wanted. I wondered how many times this had happened to him, and I felt sorry for him.

I ran out of the store blindly, back to the corner where my new friends were waiting. They were whispering cheers as I approached, and Julio and Aiden each took a sixpack to relieve me. Then a grinning John joined us and we ran away through the alleys, hearing the sirens approach. I ran after them, not watching where we were going, only one panicky thought in my mind. I robbed a liquor store. Of all the stupid things to do...

Finally we stopped, panting, laughing hysterically. I felt the adrenaline sear through my body, making me giddy and strangely exhilarated. Looking around, I saw that we were at the docks down the harbor. We sat down on the edge of the pier and I looked at the inky black water that was flushing around below me. George punched me.

"Good job," he said, extracting a can from the plastic that held the sixpack together and offering it to me.

I took it, feeling I could use a drink right about now. It was probably a bad idea, but I tilted my head backwards and gulped it down in one swig, grimacing at the taste of it. I still didn't like beer. George was laughing at me and handed me another one when I emptied it. My head was spinning and I took it. I was past caring.

"Did you see his face," John laughed, "He was scared shitless."

I remembered and felt ashamed. The giddy feeling left me and the depression I had been keeping at bay the past week settled back in. Suddenly, I was crying. I got up and staggered away from them, somehow having trouble determining which way was up. Before I knew it, I was flat on my face. I heard them approach, laughing again.

"One beer, and he's out," I heard Aiden say.

Two of them lifted me up and sat me down with my back against a large crate. John squatted down in front of me, balancing on his toes. I found it amazing that the guy was able to do that with the amount of beer he had drunk.

"Don't feel bad," he said, "It's not like we took everything away from him. Just a few sixpacks. He won't miss them all that much."

"You took money," I said, having trouble forming words.

John handed me his beer and I automatically took a gulp from it. He reached down his pocket and fished out a handful of five dollar bills. It amounted to about fifty bucks.

"That's it," he said, "Just some play money. We can go to the Nasty Burger and have something to eat. It's no big deal, Alan, we're not criminals. We're just having some fun."

I shook my head. "I'm going home," I said, "I don't like this."

John shrugged and stood up, as did the others. I struggled to my feet and leaned against the crate, looking back at them.

"Fine," he said, "Suit yourself. Just remember, you're in this as deep as we are. The guy got a pretty good look at you, way better than at me. I'm sure he'll be able to identify you, so if I were you, I'd keep quiet about this, OK?"

I nodded slowly. As one, they turned around and left me standing there, still holding John's beer. I watched as they left the pier, rounded the corner of one of the warehouses and were gone. I felt utterly alone, dizzy and miserable. A sob rose in my throat, and then, in a sudden flash of anger, I hurled the half empty can of beer into the water.

I stared at the spot it had hit for a while and then turned around and walked off the pier too, every now and then steadying myself. The world was spinning around me and I had trouble thinking coherently, so when that blue mist escaped my mouth again I didn't immediately register it.

Until I saw a green glowing cat.

My mind did a couple of flip-flops and settled down again. A green, glowing, cat. Suddenly I regretted throwing the beer can away. I didn't want to deal with this. I wanted to lay down and forget I existed. I sniffed a little and rubbed my eyes. The cat sat down and stared at me with eerily glowing eyes.

"Shoo," I hissed.

It didn't move. I took a step towards it and it backed away from me a little, like a normal cat would. Gaining confidence, I walked towards it and it turned around and ran. The chill left me and I felt somewhat normal again. Time to go home.

I left the docks, walking through the empty streets, my footsteps echoing in the deserted area. Every now and then I staggered a little, but the sight of the cat had sobered me up enough to recognize where I was and where I needed to go. It was a long way though, I had to go straight across town, past the mall, close to where we had robbed the liquor store. A police car passed me by and I ducked into an alley. They must have seen me because they stopped and got out, shining their flashlights in the alley, trying to find me. I realized I was a minor, going around town at two in the morning. They'd want to know what I was doing there.

My heart pounding, I pressed myself against the wall, willing myself invisible. They weren't looking very hard, because they missed me completely, even though one of them came within three feet of me. They turned around at the dead end and left, softly talking to each other, joking a little about ghosts. I let go of the breath I had been holding and waited for a long time before I continued on my way.

It took me the good part of an hour to get back to Terry's place. I didn't bother with the front door, knowing it would be locked, but instead went around the back. The kitchen window was always open for people like me, coming home in the middle of the night. I climbed in and softly shut it behind me.

The kitchen was dark and quiet, save for the soft humming of the refrigerator. I slid past the chairs and the table and tiptoed up the stairs, making sure to avoid the creaking ones. Back in my room, I noticed two of the beds were occupied. Aiden and George. Ignoring them, I quickly undressed and crawled under my blankets. Sleep wouldn't come for a long time.


	3. Lost and Found

A/N: I'm trying out a new method of evaluating my chapters. I'm hoping it'll help me get across what I want to get across. So there you go.

* * *

**LOST**

**Chapter 3: Lost and Found**

* * *

In the following days, I tried to avoid them. I couldn't completely stay away from them of course, we were living almost on top of each other, but I made sure I left the kitchen when they entered, glared at them whenever one of them tried to say something, and I was only in my room, which I shared with Aiden and George, to sleep. Their presence made me nervous, but I tried not to show that. John kept a suspicious eye on me, but seemed to relax when I didn't say anything. 

I moved through town, delivering my packages of instant muscle, struggling with my conscience. I couldn't go to the police, I'd end up in jail. I couldn't just leave, I had no money. The only thing I could do was get more depressed. Which I did. I no longer looked around where I was going, I no longer enjoyed the feeling of the sun on my skin. Even the brightest sunlight couldn't penetrate the darkness that was in my mind. I talked to no one, not even to Terry or Grace.

The days passed me by in an endless stream of sunrises and sunsets, meaningless, empty, and one time I found myself at the railroad tracks, staring at the trains go by, their mindless thundering on the tracks both fascinating and scaring me. When I realized what I was doing, I abruptly turned around and left. That night I lied awake in my bed for a long time, listening to George's soft snoring and Aidens coughing, thinking about the contents of the refrigerator. But I didn't go downstairs, not then.

And then Aiden disappeared. Nobody knew where he went, and I was worried. It actually made me sit with them again, eager to hear news about him. George said he might have been picked up by the police, and that's when I learned he was a car thief. Julio was silent and pale, and when John pressed him a little he confessed that Aiden had complained to him about a rivaling gang that had been moving into town.

We were sitting on the front steps that evening, the last beams of the setting sun lighting the run down building in an orange glow. John, Julio and George were unusually silent, and of course I was silent too, but that wasn't unusual. We had gone through a number of 'what ifs', none of them very pleasant.

"Look, we all know the risks," John said finally, as we seemed to be going around in circles.

"What risks?" I asked, "What is it you do?"

They looked at each other and then at me. Julio shrugged.

"I play the violin in the mall. People stop and trow some money in the case. George watches where they put their wallets and then John and him go after them..."

John stared at me, hard.

"You didn't think we could live off my stupid job at the Nasty Burger, did you?" he asked, "You're not really that naive, are you?"

I looked down. I _was_ that naive.

"There's gangs out there," George said, "We have to pay them. They own the mall."

"I thought you said you weren't criminals," I said accusingly.

John shrugged. "I lied." He looked away. "We do what we do to survive, Alan, ain't nobody taking care of us but ourselves. We have no choice."

"You always have a choice," I said stubbornly.

"Sure," Julio said, "Steal or starve. Pick one."

His eyes glazed over. "There's a lot worse things I could do, you know."

I shuddered.

"We're runaways, Alan," John said, a hard look on his face, "We're free game. Never forget that."

"What about Terry?" I asked.

"Terry knows people," John said carefully, "If you want something arranged, you go to Terry. Anything." He leaned closer. "A fake ID. People with certain capabilities. Pressure on people who owe you money. _Anything_."

I thought about that, mostly about the 'anything'. Then John ordered me to get some beer and I complied without protest. I stood in front of the refrigerator for a long time and then finally took out three cans. Grace looked at me but didn't say anything. I closed the door, left the kitchen and handed the cans to my friends. They didn't comment on my lack of thirst.

Three days later Aiden's body was found in the trunk of a stolen car, parked behind the train station.

George was crying, Julio was angry and even John was subdued, foregoing his normal cocky behavior. I felt numb. A boy I knew was dead, murdered. Suddenly the world had become a dangerous place, lethal to boys like Aiden, who, despite being a thief, didn't deserve this. That night I got really drunk.

The days that followed went by in a haze. The police never came to the house, obviously not knowing or not caring where he lived, and we didn't volunteer information. None of us could afford to talk to the police and even if we did, we wouldn't be able to tell them anything anyway. None of us knew what Aiden really had been up to, who he was working for and how he did it. All we knew was he was our friend, and somebody had murdered him. We stuck close to home, me only leaving to deliver the packages, until the lack of money drove John, Julio and George back out to the Mall. Neither Terry nor Grace ever asked where Aiden went. I'm pretty sure they didn't care.

On Friday night, exactly two weeks after the robbery of the liquor store, the four of us went out again. John went to buy the beer and I helped him carry it. Our jokes and laughter sounded strained, but at least we were trying. Sitting on the ground in a clearing in the park, John raised his can.

"To Aiden," he said solemnly.

"To Aiden," we said.

We drank in silence, and then Julio said we should do something in his honor. We should steal a car. To me, that sounded like a very good idea, even though somewhere in the back of my mind a little voice was screaming at me to get out of there. I no longer cared.

We got up and left the park, our voices loud and rowdy, laughing hysterically when George fell down in the middle of the street. He was laying on his back and gazed up to the dark sky.

"Come on, Georgie," I said, tugging at his arm, "You're in the middle of the road, what if a truck comes along and runs you over?"

He looked at me in surprise and then started laughing. "Truck," he laughed, "Running me over.. It's the middle of the night, Alan, there's no trucks now."

He looked away.

"Look, Alan, look at the stars. They're pretty."

I sat down next to him and then laid down on my back to look at the stars.

"Look," I said, pointing, "Orion."

I pointed out the three stars that made out it's belt. We could only see the tree brightest stars of the constellation, due to the streetlights.

"We'd have a better view in the park," I said, "No streetlights."

I pointed out some more constellations to George, and John and Julio joined us, also looking up. When I complained about the streetlights, John got up and killed two with them with a rock. I thought he had a pretty good aim, and he grinned. The view had improved tremendously.

A loud horn and screeching tires alerted us to the arrival of a car. George and I rolled away to the left, John and Julio jumped to the right. The car stopped, a man got out and started yelling at us. I popped myself up on one arm and watched as John approached the man, threateningly. The man shut up.

"John," I said, suddenly alarmed, "Let's just go."

He looked at me, swayed a little and then came over and helped me to my feet. The four of us waved at the man and staggered away. I opened another can of beer. George reminded us of what we had set out to do before we got distracted by the stars: stealing a car.

It turned out, however, that none of us knew how to do that, which was probably a good thing. We would have killed ourselves. We walked around town, peering into cars, trying the doors to see if somebody had left their car open. Nobody was that stupid. And then we came to the gas station. George started to laugh.

"Look," he said, pointing, "Cars!"

I didn't see what he meant at first, because the place was deserted, but then I saw it too. In the window of the little shop there were models of classic cars, carefully placed on glass shelves. The owner of the gas station must be some sort of car fanatic. The shop was dark, only the car models were lit. A clear invitation. John turned to me and grabbed my shoulders.

"You," he said, "Stand over there. Be the lookout. Shout if you see anything."

I nodded, walked to the fence and leaned against it. The others walked to the gas station. I watched them standing in front of the window, conferring on how they were going to do it, and then wander about, searching for something. A brick, possibly.

My eyes wandered away from them and I remembered what I was doing there. Shifting somewhat, I started scanning the street for any sign of trouble. I had a perfect view in each direction, and I was close enough to the gas station, which was a little bit away from the road, for my friends to be able to hear me shout a warning. I had a clear getaway behind me, through the holes in the fence. Now if only the street would stop turning and settle down a little, I would be perfectly happy.

"Alan?"

John's voice.

"Nothing!" I shouted.

I closed my eyes for a moment to make the swirling go away, which turned out to be a bad mistake. If I hadn't been leaning against the fence, I would have fallen. My dizziness increased tenfold and I suddenly felt sick. I felt myself swaying on my feet and decided that it would be better if I sat down for a bit. I could watch the street equally well sitting down as standing up. I failed to remember that I needed my eyes to be open in order to do that.

I heard the car at the same moment as I heard a loud crash coming from the shop at the gas station. I opened my eyes with some difficulty and stared directly into the the side of a squad car, slowly approaching. My heart started racing as I clambered to my feet, shouting a warning to my friends, and then I tried to get out of there.

We didn't stand a chance. I only managed two steps before they grabbed me, pressed me to the ground and started shouting at me to lay still and keep quiet. I heard shouts coming from the gas station as well, and a single shot was fired. Then everything went quiet.

My face was pressed uncomfortably into the concrete, and an officer was sitting on my back, twisting my arms painfully. I heard his radio crack a few times, and then he started talking to me. It took me a few moments to realize he was reading me my rights.

"Do you understand your rights?" he asked.

I ground out a yes, and he cuffed me and hurled me on my feet. I couldn't keep standing, however, so he had to catch me. Then he grabbed me by my left arm and pushed me to the police car, opened the door and forced me inside, his hand on my head. Another policeman stepped in beside him and as we took off, I saw an ambulance arriving.

Suddenly afraid, I twisted my head to look back, but I couldn't see anything but flashing lights and dark figures moving around. And then we turned a corner and it was gone.

"Did somebody get hurt?" I asked fearfully.

"Shut up," the driver said.

"Please," I begged, "Are my friends alright?"

The tall policeman sitting in the passenger seat turned and glared at me with cold eyes. I realized I was a criminal and this wasn't a friendly policeman trying to help me. They'd arrested me. They'd put me in jail, something that I'd been trying to avoid. I slumped down in my seat and stared outside at the lights of the town passing by. They made me feel nauseous.

"Way to go, Alan," I thought to myself, "If you're trying to avoid getting arrested, you should have started with not robbing a liquor store or vandalizing a gas station shop."

Then I smiled to myself. I was starting to think of myself as 'Alan'. I had an identity.

We arrived at the police station ten long minutes later and they pulled me out of the car none to gently, pushed me inside, frisked me, accidentally knocking me on the head and then asked me my name. I only told them 'Alan' and remained silent at all their other questions. In the end, they gave up and took me to the small cell block.

"Sleep it off," they said, pushing me into a cell.

The door closed behind me with a loud clunk. I stuck my hands through the hatch that was especially made for it and they removed my handcuffs, all the while staring into the faces of John and Julio, who were looking back at me angrily. I looked around and found four beds with plastic mattresses and no sheets, standing against the wall, a toilet and a small drinking fountain. Everything, the beds, the mattresses, the walls and the floor, was in a beige color that was probably chosen to calm down it's inhabitants. It wasn't working.

"Where's George?" I asked John, who stepped closer.

"What were you thinking!" he hissed, "You were supposed to stand watch! You could have seen that police car a mile away! We had no chance!"

I gulped and backed away from him. He was right. I should have warned them. I shouldn't have closed my eyes.

"Where...where's George?" I whispered.

"Hospital," Julio said, "I hope."

John slammed me against the door and I hit my head painfully.

"They shot him!" he yelled at me, "Little George! He was fourteen! You killed him!"

I felt all the blood drain from my face.

"We don't know that yet," Julio said, but I heard no sympathy in his voice.

John let go of me and stepped back somewhat, breathing heavily. Then he moved again, coming straight at me. The beer made him slow though. But it made me slow too. I moved, trying to evade his punch, only partially succeeding. Instead of hitting me in the stomach, he hit my lower ribs. Still painful, but not nearly as incapacitating.

I wasn't thinking. Thought had absolutely nothing to do with it. If I had been thinking, I would probably have curled up into a ball and let him beat me into a pulp. I wouldn't have thought I could have done anything about it, against the two of them. Also, I would have figured I deserved it.

Instead, my body reacted. The moment I hit the floor, I rolled, twisted my legs and was up in one fluid motion. Adrenaline seared through me again, momentarily negating the effect of the alcohol in my blood. I kicked his legs from under him and he fell. From the corner of my eyes I saw Julio approach, and I raised my elbow and hit him in the face before he could hit me. He staggered backwards holding his bleeding nose, moaning, looking at me wide eyed.

I dropped into a fighting stance and backed away somewhat to give me some space. Julio had sat down on one of the beds, whimpering. John got up and launched himself at me. He stood no chance.

I twisted a little, stepped back, grabbed his shoulders and landed my knee in his stomach. He went down, retching, curling himself into a ball. I backed away again, light on my feet, ready to move should either of them launch an attack again. But it didn't come.

Instead, the door opened and at least four guards looked in. They saw John on the floor, groaning, Julio on the bed, blood streaming from his nose and me, standing in a fighting stance, unhurt. It took them only a second to add two and two and arrive at four. One of them remained standing in the doorway, talking into his radio for backup, the others rushed me, grabbed my arms and painfully twisted them behind my back for the second time that night. Three seconds later I was out of there.

They weren't gentle. Holding my arms in an almost impossible angle, they slammed me against the door of the cell next to the one I had been in, shouting at me. I didn't listen. I was on an adrenaline high, breathing in short gasps, and it's possible that if they hadn't pinned me down so tightly, I might have fought back. I heard them confer behind me, something about where to put me because all the cells were full, and then they hauled me across the hallway, opened a door to another cell and shoved me inside.

"Behave," they said and then closed the door.

I rubbed my arms and looked behind me at the closed door, still panting. A soft sound made me swirl around and notice a big man in dirty clothes, lying on one of the beds, looking at me bleary eyed. He started grinning, and I decided to head off any unpleasantness. I took three steps until I was standing next to him, and he had to look up at me.

"Stay down old man," I said.

"Whaddaya in for?" he slurred.

I could smell the alcohol from his breath even through my own. I tried my best menacing look on him.

"I just decked two guys who were a head taller than me," I said, and then, leaning closer, "So lay off."

His eyes widened and he backed away somewhat. Mission accomplished. I turned around and headed towards the bed on the other side of the cell. I could feel the adrenaline leave me, and suddenly I felt drained and more than drunk. I made it to the bed, but only just. I laid down on it and turned my back on the other guy to prevent him from seeing me shake. Darkness enclosed me, although the bright light in the cell tried to convince me otherwise. I felt assaulted, beaten, trapped. Afraid to close my eyes, I stared at the wall, my arms wrapped around my chest, fighting off the waves of nausea.

* * *

At some point that night I must have fallen asleep, because I woke up with somebody poking something solid in my back and a voice telling me to wake up. I groaned and opened my eyes to a slit. I noticed two things, one, the world was still spinning and two, my head hurt. I closed my eyes again and tried to move away from the something that was poking my back. 

"Hey, kid, wake up. Chief wants to see you."

I half turned and squinted at the guard looking down on me, holding a night stick. It was a different one from last night, hence the friendly look on his face. He held up his handcuffs with an apologetic look on his face.

"Procedure," he said, "Come on, kid, wake up. Don't have all day."

I pushed myself up and swung my legs out of the bed. I sat for a moment, waiting for the world to stop spinning, and then slowly stood up. The bed on the other side of the cell was empty. It seemed they had already processed my buddy from the night before.

"What time is it," I croaked.

I had a foul taste in my mouth, and I desperately longed for something to drink. Something with no alcohol in it. It didn't sit with me very well. Never again.

"Nine AM," the guard said, "Come on, you've slept it off. Put your hands behind your back, son, so I can put these on."

"Hardly," I grumbled, but I complied.

He handcuffed me and led me out of the cell, through a number of hallways into what was probably an interview room. I recognized it from the movies. It had a table in it and three chairs, one on one side of the table, two on the other side. No tape recorder. The guard led me to the single chair and pushed me in it, then undid the handcuffs.

"There you go," he said, "Coffee?"

I nodded and managed a half smile in gratitude. The door shut behind him and I was left alone to think about what was going to happen. My mind drew a large blank. Would I be charged? With what? Would they put me in jail or in some sort of juvenile detention center? I didn't know.

The door opened again and another man entered, wearing a gray suit. He was followed by the guard, who was carrying a plastic cup. He placed it in front of me together with some sugar and milk satchels, smiled at me encouragingly and left. The man in the gray suit sat down on the other side of the table and looked at me while I took a sip from my coffee. He placed a tape recorder on the table, pressed a button and stated the date and time. He extended his hand and I shook it timidly.

"Detective Raskin," he said.

"Alan," I said.

I studied him. He looked neither young nor old, so that made him somewhere in his mid thirties. Brown hair, brown eyes, guarded look in them. He waited for me to continue but I remained quiet.

"Last name?"

I kept my mouth shut. He shook his head.

"You might as well tell me, boy. We'll find out anyway. But alright. Age?"

"Sixteen."

He was silent for a moment.

"A little young to be drinking, isn't it?"

I nodded and took another sip from my coffee. I didn't have a hangover, I was still drunk. The room kept doing these odd turns on me. I concentrated on detective Raskin.

"Suspect admits knowing he is under age," Raskin said for my benefit, "Do you know what you're in for?"

I shrugged. I wasn't going to admit to anything.

"Do you remember what happened last night?"

A way out. He offered me a way out. All I had to do was say no. And then I realized that wouldn't matter. Getting drunk in itself was an offense. So I nodded.

"You were the lookout," Raskin said.

Silence from my part.

"Not a very good lookout. They didn't take it very well, I heard."

I looked away. I had let them down. The only friends I had, and I'd let them down. I felt myself sinking lower into the pit I was digging for myself. Then I remembered something else.

"How is George?"

"The kid that got shot?"

I nodded.

He shrugged. "Not good. He's in intensive care. But he's alive."

I closed my eyes. Little George was in ICU because of me. But at least he was alive. Raskin leaned forward.

"You think you're responsible?"

I nodded miserably.

"You're all responsible. You each took a chance when you were breaking into that shop. The fact that you were only the lookout doesn't get you off the hook. But I need your name..."

He looked at me oddly.

"You look familiar..."

My heart started racing. Had he recognized me from the robbery two weeks ago? Did the security camera get a good shot of me? If they did, I was certainly done for. I might get off lightly for a case of what was in essence vandalism, but robbery was a different matter. Raskin got up abruptly, stopped the tape and left the room.

I had a very uncomfortable half hour after that. In my mind, I saw him watching the video tape from the liquor store, grinning, saying 'Now we've got you, Alan'. My hands were shaking and I spilled some coffee before managing to take another sip of the now lukewarm liquid. Then he returned, holding something that looked like photographs. I paled.

"Daniel," he said to me, "What happened to your friends?"

He placed two photographs in front of me, a picture of a black boy with dark rimmed glasses and a red cap and a picture I'd seen before. Samantha Manson, missing. I stared at her, mesmerized by her purple eyes.

"Daniel?"

I looked up.

"My name is Alan."

He shook his head.

"You're Daniel Fenton, age seventeen, missing for three months."

He placed a third photograph next to the two that were already laying there. It was me. A younger me, hair shorter and less messy, sparkling blue eyes, smiling. I shook my head.

"My name is Alan."

Raskin leaned closer, forcing me to look at him.

"Look, Daniel, this is very important." He gestured at the pictures on the table. "Tucker Foley and Samantha Manson. Their parents are very worried. Please help us find them."

I looked back at the pictures again and took the picture of Samantha in my hand. She was... not pretty. In fact, she seemed to do her utmost to prevent people from thinking she might even be remotely called pretty in any way. She looked strong though. Independent. Something I admired in her.

"Daniel."

I ignored him and instead looked at the picture of Tucker Foley. He was smiling too, a goofy smile, as if he had been laughing very hard about something earlier and wasn't done laughing yet. He looked a bit geeky.

"Daniel, please. What happened to you? Why were you hiding?"

Silence was my best defense. The familiar dark feeling was lurking in the back of my mind, urging me to hide, to sit in the corner of the room with my arms over my head to shut the world out. I hadn't felt it this strongly during the past three weeks, and took an enormous effort just to remain seated. I kept silent, keeping my head down and staring at the pictures, while an increasingly frustrated detective Raskin kept asking me where I had been the past few months and where Samantha and Tucker were. A knock on the door ended his one-sided conversation. Raskin put his hand on the tape recorder, said 'Interview postponed at ten thirty AM' and pressed the off button.

"In," he said loudly.

The door opened, and two people, a man and a woman, looked into the room. I barely had the chance to take in their outfits – hazmat suits, one orange and one blue – when the woman jumped forward and hugged me tightly.

"Danny," she sobbed, "Danny. At last."

With some difficulty I pried her arms away from me, got up and stepped back, staring at them and resisting the urge to press myself against the wall.

"Who the hell are you?" I asked.


	4. Coming Home

A/N: Stupid plot bunnies... I'm sorry people, I started two new short stories (one fluffy and one creepy). Don't know if they're going anywhere yet. But they take time out of this one.

* * *

**LOST**

**Chapter 4: Coming home**

* * *

They took me to the hospital and had me examined by a truckload of doctors and psychiatrists. I protested at first, telling them I wasn't who they thought I was, until detective Raskin silenced me by saying he'd be happy to lock me away again and ask the judge to place me where I was now anyway. So I went with them, the huge man in the orange hazmat suit, Jack Fenton, claiming to be my father and the woman, Maddie Fenton, equally clad in blue, claiming to be my mother. 

After that first introduction I had refused to let them near me, afraid they would start hugging me again. My ribs hurt from the blow John gave me the night before. They looked hurt and lost and I felt sorry for them, but I still stayed away from them, crept out by their gushing over me.

In three days time they did an MRI of my head, and several tests which I couldn't quite determine what they were for, and they made me take off my shirt. I heard Mrs Fenton gasp at the sight of my scarred torso. Mr Fenton had gone home, at the insistence of his wife, saying it would be easier on me if only she remained. I agreed, because that meant half the problem was gone.

"Oh, Danny, what happened to you?" she whispered.

"Damned if I know," I thought, but I refused to acknowledge her. My name was Alan. I liked that name. Frank gave it to me. I smiled a little. Frank was nothing, a bouncer at a club, a bodybuilder who used steroids to make himself bigger. He was also one of the first two people I ever met. I did not want to let go of what little I knew of myself.

I got in a serious argument with the doctors and Mrs Fenton because they wanted to get a blood sample, which I wouldn't give. For some reason, the idea of them sticking a needle in me terrified me, and I refused to let them near me. In the end, they gave in, since I obviously wasn't sick. Just hung over.

On the second day a girl with long red hair visited me. I was sitting on my bed in the private room I had, courtesy of somebody called Vlad Masters, bored out of my mind. Mrs Fenton had brought me some clothes, a white t-shirt with a red oval on it and jeans. They had thrown away my shoes since they were old and worn and had holes in them. I had slippers on my feet.

She entered the room and closed it behind her.

"Don't you know how to knock?" I asked.

She remained silent, studying me while standing at the door.

"I'm Jazz," she said finally, like it was supposed to mean something to me.

I looked at her blankly.

"I'm your sister."

Ah. Hence the entering without knocking. She approached me, grabbed one of the chairs that were standing near the wall and sat down on it. I watched her, glad for the distraction.

"You don't remember me."

She was stating a fact, not asking a question, but I shook my head anyway. She blinked a couple of times, as if trying to hold back tears, and then, to my surprise, extended her hand.

"Jazz Fenton," she said, "Pleased to meet you."

"Alan," I said, shaking her hand.

She was the first one that actually made sense. Mr and Mrs Fenton both acted like I should know them, but I didn't. I didn't know anybody, and it made me very apprehensive about meeting new people, since I didn't know if I should know them or not. I only knew Terry and Frank and Grace, and John, George and Julio. And Aiden. But he was dead.

Jazz frowned at my answer.

"I heard you don't want to be called Danny," she said hesitantly.

I figured it must be hard on her, but I refused to be somebody I was not. I shook my head.

"I'm Alan," I said, "I've always been Alan. Well, except for the brief period when I was John, but they already had a John, so they named me Alan. I like that name. It's me."

"Who are 'they'... Alan?" Jazz asked.

I closed my mouth with a click and refused to say anything more. I wasn't going to rat them out. I had caused enough damage already. After a while of fruitlessly trying to make conversation, she left.

Detective Raskin came to talk to me a couple of times, questioning me about Samantha and Tucker, but I couldn't help him. I just kept telling him I didn't know them, hadn't seen them and certainly didn't know where they were. I did tell him about the cabin I found myself in, and how to find it, and they did, eventually. It neither confirmed nor denied my story, although they did find the broken chair with my blood on it. There were strange scorch marks on the walls, which made Mr and Mrs Fenton curious. They went over there to look at it, but if they found something, they didn't tell me.

I tried asking Raskin about it when he came by again, but he evaded my questions, instead asking where I'd been in the past three weeks. I didn't want to tell him about Terry and Grace, so I just shut up and let him talk. He threatened me a couple of times over the break in of the shop, telling me he'd try and put me away for a long time, but I knew it wasn't up to him to do that. I had heard that Masters guy had contracted a whole army of expensive lawyers on my behalf, and they were restricting his access to me. He left each time having gotten none the wiser.

Silence was my best defense. On the third day, a psychiatrist by the name of Mrs Crown came to talk to me, and whenever she asked a question I didn't know the answer to, I kept quiet. We, or rather, she, talked for about an hour, and then she let in Mrs Fenton, who had been waiting outside.

"I can't of course give you a diagnosis straight away," she said to my mother, ignoring me as if I wasn't in the room. Well, I hadn't given her much of an idea that I was there.

"But it seems to me this is a clear case of traumatic retrograde amnesia. The MRI, I am told, shows damage in his brain, more specifically, the hippocampus, suggesting a head trauma. But I suspect, because of his physical shape and the fact that there is no outward sign of a head injury, it has also something to do with the things your son went through before the brain damage, causing him to suppress his experiences. That would mean dissociative amnesia. I'm not sure which is the dominant one here."

I had brain damage. Great. Probably explained why I had trouble thinking. I was a retard. I scowled at her.

"What does that mean?" Mrs Fenton asked, glancing at me.

"It means he can remember nothing from before the head trauma. We'll have to see about how much of his memory we can retrieve. The best thing to do is taking him home, to a familiar environment. It may jog his memory."

Mrs Fenton shook her head.

"I still don't understand. This is temporary, isn't it? He will get it all back, right?"

Mrs Crown hesitated for a moment.

"Normally, I'd say yes, very likely. But this has been going on for weeks now. He should have started to remember things by now. He should have known you straight away, you're his mother. If he doesn't even recognize you..."

She turned to me.

"Danny," she said.

I looked away.

"Alan?"

Slowly, I turned my head and looked at her.

"Could you tell your mother what was the first thing you remember?"

"Pain," I said.

"And?"

"And nothing. I woke up, my head hurt, I didn't know where I was and I got angry, but that didn't help much so I left."

"When was this?"

"Three weeks ago."

Mrs Fenton gasped. "But you've been missing for three months," she said.

I shrugged. I didn't remember. And at this point, I didn't want to remember. I didn't really believe I was this Daniel Fenton guy. I was sure I'd recognize my own mother if I saw her. I wasn't going to attach myself to this woman, however nice she might seem.

"We'll have to perform more tests," Mrs Crown was saying, "Determine the extent of his brain damage and how it may affect his functioning. But it seems to me most of his intellectual capabilities are intact, although he'd probably need some testing from the school to determine if that's true. But I must warn you..." She glanced at me. "His ability to predict the future may be affected."

Joy.

She continued. "We can predict what will happen by taking into account what happened before in our past. We use our experience. He doesn't have that."

Mrs Fenton actually looked relieved at that. I wondered why, until I figured she saw a way out of the vandalism charge against me. I wasn't responsible for my actions because I had brain damage. Great excuse. George would really be helped by it. I had heard that he was doing better. It seemed they had hit him in the shoulder when he was running away. He had been holding a stick and they somehow had thought it was a gun, so they'd shot him.

The woman who thought she was my mother sighed.

"What we really want to know," she said, "If he'll be able to remember what happened to his friends."

Mrs Crown shook her head.

"There is no way of telling," she said, "We'll have to wait and see."

* * *

After that last consult, Mrs Fenton took me... home, I guess. My jaw dropped when I saw the strange house with the spaceship like contraption on top and the huge neon sign reading 'Fenton Works'. _This_ was where they lived? She seemed totally unperturbed by her strange house or my reaction to it though, so I followed her inside. 

We entered a living room with the obligatory couch and TV. So far, so good. But right there and then all normalcy ended. The kitchen was full of... things. Beside a toaster, there were a great many strange objects with dials and knobs and protruding antennae, some taken apart, with tools laying next to cutlery and plates. The oven was glowing green. It made my skin crawl.

There was something else in the house too. I could feel it. Something coming from below, tugging at me, trying to lure me towards it. I feared it immediately.

"What's down there?" I asked, pointing at an opening with stairs leading down.

"The lab, dear," Mrs Fenton said, "We have a ghost portal there. It would be best if you didn't wander in there by yourself until I explain the safety procedures to you... again."

She suddenly sounded defeated. I stood in the kitchen, looking around aimlessly. Mrs Fenton grabbed my arm and pulled me back into the living room.

"Jack!" she shouted.

Somebody answered from below and moments later the man in the orange hazmat suit came up the stairs and entered the living room. I sat on the couch, and they sat next to me. Jazz came down the stairs from above and took a seat in the chair opposing the couch. Mrs Fenton cleared her throat.

"Danny... Alan. I know this all is strange to you, but I want to stress to you that no matter what happens, or how you may feel towards us, we love you, and we're very glad that you're back, even though..."

She swallowed.

"Even though you don't remember us. You belong here, with us, and I promise we'll be patient. You... you don't want to call me mother, or mom, but I can't have you call me Mrs Fenton all the time... so would you settle for Maddie?"

She and her husband looked at me hopefully, and my resolve faltered.

"Alright," I said, "Maddie."

Mr Fenton extended his hand and I shook it.

"Jack," he said.

"Alan," I said pointedly.

They looked hurt, but nodded. After that, Jazz took me upstairs and showed me my room. It was clean and dusted, the bed was made and the desk was empty. There were a great number of NASA posters on the blue walls. I looked at them, trying to feel something. But the only thing I felt was the slight tugging of the ghost portal in the basement.

I walked around the room, letting my fingers slide on the desk and the computer, looked out of the window to look at the street below, and finally sat down on the bed. Jazz had been watching me from the door, but now she entered and closed it behind her. I looked at her in surprise.

"Alan," she said, "How... have you noticed... I don't know how to ask this... have you noticed something... strange about yourself?"

"How do you mean?"

I hadn't a clue of what she was talking about. She seemed nervous.

"Before you disappeared... you had powers. Ghost powers."

She stopped and looked at me. I stared at her.

"What kind of powers?" I asked, thinking she was crazy. People didn't have powers, and certainly not ghost powers.

"You could go invisible, intangible, shoot ghost rays... lots of things. Have you... noticed anything of this, maybe you drop stuff a lot because your hands go intangible or something..."

I started laughing.

"You're crazy," I said, "Nobody has powers. I certainly don't. The only thing that is freaky about me is that I don't know who the hell I am."

She got angry. "You're Danny Fenton."

"No I'm not. You only want me to be."

Tears brimmed in her eyes and I felt bad for her.

"Why?" she asked, "Why won't you believe us?"

I looked away. How could I explain this to her, my total conviction that whoever these people were, they weren't my parents or my sister.

"I'd feel something," I said finally, "If Maddie was my mother, I'd know. I feel like... I feel like my real mother is still out there somewhere, and I need to find her..."

Jazz was silent. She sat down on the bed next to me and stared at a poster of the space shuttle attached to the ISS. I reached past her and picked up the picture beside my bed. Three people were in it, laughing, wrapping their arms around each other. Samantha in the middle, Tucker on the right and Danny on the left.

"They are your friends, D...Alan. We should try to find them."

My friends were in jail. They weren't lucky enough to have a billionaire family friend who could buy a whole law firm if he wanted to. I had asked Jack and Maddie if he would consider helping them too, but it seemed he had refused. I disliked him without having ever met him.

"What happened?" I asked.

Of course Tucker and Samantha should be found. I just didn't see how I could do anything about it. They were Danny's friends. I kicked off my shoes and pulled my feet up. Jazz let herself fall backwards and stared at the ceiling.

"I'm not sure," she said, "We all thought the three of you went to lake Eerie on a short camping trip for the weekend. You were supposed to return on Monday, but you never did. The police looked everywhere, but there was no evidence that you even got to lake Eerie in the first place. Nobody had seen you there and Sam's car was nowhere to be found either."

"We went camping?" I asked.

We. I was referring to them as we. My mind was trying to shift gear as I was trying to process what just happened. I couldn't see myself being with them. I couldn't see myself being with anyone. Whenever I tried to picture something from my past, everything went dark, so I tried to avoid that. But I had said 'we'.

Jazz laughed a little. "It's a Sam thing. She loves camping, and you do everything she says. Tucker just follows along because he doesn't want to be left out and he's your friend. Camping is definitely not his thing."

"Is she... Danny's girlfriend?"

She frowned at my using third person on Danny, but shook her head.

"No. You both claim you're not lovebirds." She raised her hands and used her fingers to quote the word 'lovebirds'. "It's just a matter of time though, I think, before you two will get together."

If they were ever found. I looked at the picture again and felt a sudden pang of jealousy at Danny Fenton. He was the lucky one. I reached out and put the picture in it's place. Jazz got up.

"Do you like your room?" she asked.

I shrugged. I knew she wanted me to say it looked familiar.

"It's OK, I guess," I said. I nodded at the posters. "Into space exploration, is he?"

"You want to be an astronaut."

I snorted. "Yeah, right, that'll be obtainable."

"You can always dream," she said and left the room.

I laid down on my bed and stared at the blue ceiling for a while. Now that she was gone, I felt the strange pulling from below again, somehow trying to pull me through the floor. It was creepy. I didn't know if I could stay in a house that sent shivers up my spine half the time.

Trying to distract myself, I got up and sat down at the desk. I felt like an intruder. Nothing looked familiar. The drawers contained the usual things, pens, pencils, rulers, elastic bands, that kind of stuff. I pressed the button on the computer and it whirred to life, taking it's time to start up. When finally the login screen appeared, I couldn't get in because I didn't know the password. I turned it off again.

Looking around the room, I caught sight of something that was under the bed. Dropping on my knees and then flat on my stomach, I crawled under it and grabbed hold of the box that was standing there. Then I wiggled backwards, bumping my head a few times, pulling the box with me awkwardly. For some reason, being under that bed sent shivers up my spine. I didn't like the sensation of hardly being able to move.

The box contained pictures. Some were old, Danny in kindergarten, Danny, Sam and Tucker at a barbecue, Danny and Jazz dressed up for Halloween. Family pictures, vacations, fishing at some lake, formal school pictures. And lots and lots of pictures of Sam. I picked one that seemed recent and stared at her. Then I closed my eyes and tried to picture her. I had no trouble doing that, like I had trouble picturing other people in my mind.

Loud voices coming from downstairs shook my out of my contemplation, and I quickly put the pictures back into the box, closed the lid and shoved it back under the bed, but not so far that I couldn't easily reach for it if I wanted to. The picture of Sam I kept, and I carefully placed it on the desk before walking to the door and carefully looking out.

"Where is he?" I heard a woman's voice ask, no, scream.

She sounded slightly hysterical. I tiptoed to the stairs and looked down into the living room. Two people I didn't know were standing there, as were Jack and Maddie. The woman had red hair, carefully styled, and looked like she never did anything that might upset that hair. The man was blond, slightly taller than the woman, but not nearly as tall as Jack, who was towering over him. Beside me, Jazz appeared and grabbed my arm.

"Where is that... boy! What did he do to my daughter! Why isn't he arrested!"

The woman was still screaming, standing right in front of Maddie. I took it that she meant me, so I shook off Jazz's arm and walked down the stairs. She caught sight of me almost immediately and rushed passed a suddenly alarmed Maddie. When I reached the bottom step, she grabbed my shirt and pulled me close, but if she thought she was more intimidating than Terry, she was wrong.

"Where. Is. Samantha!" she said.

Maddie stepped in and placed her hand on the woman's arm.

"He doesn't know," she said softly, "Believe me, if he knew he would have told us."

The face of the woman, whom I gathered was Mrs Manson, twisted in anger and sadness. I felt sorry for her. They must have thought that if they found Danny they'd find Sam too. Instead, they got me. Useless.

"I'm sorry," I said, not knowing what else to say.

"You wicked boy," Mrs Manson said, letting go of me.

I was grateful for that and stepped back a little.

"You dragged her away on that camping trip! If it wasn't for you, she would still be with us!"

"It was her idea," I said.

They all stared at me, and I realized I had made it sound like I knew what had happened.

"I mean, Jazz told me it was her idea," I said lamely.

"You always had a bad influence on her," Mrs Manson hissed.

I remained silent, because for all I knew it, she could be right. I wasn't exactly a model citizen. But Maddie disagreed.

"My son has never done anything untoward," she said angrily, "They are friends, that's all. And she is like a daughter to me too. I want her back as much as you do."

"What about you?" Mrs Manson turned to me, a scornful expression on her face. "Do you want her back also? Or did you get into a fight, have you killed her and hidden her body!"

I paled. "No," I said.

I was sure I wouldn't do such a thing. Then I remembered how easily I had defeated John and Julio in that police cell. Those had been reflexes, so deeply ingrained in me that I didn't even know they were there. My body had reacted before my brain had registered what was going on. If I'd hit them a bit harder, I might have killed them. The violence I was capable of frightened me. Maddie stepped in.

"Of course he didn't. He would never do that, and you know it. Besides, Tucker was there too. You think he killed both his friends?"

Mrs Manson seemed to deflate, and suddenly all anger was swept of her face, leaving a very sad woman with dark circles under her eyes. Her husband had been standing next to Jack, quietly watching his wife. He was probably used to her.

"It's not fair," she said in a broken voice, "You've got your son back, but my Samantha is still missing..."

Suddenly, I felt anger rise in me, a boiling rage coming from deep inside of me, white hot, hardly controllable, taking over all common sense. It was anger at the situation, the unfairness of it all, the hurt and unhappiness of the people in the room. I took two steps and stood in front of her.

"But they didn't, did they," I snarled, "They haven't got their son back, they've got me."

I pulled my shirt over my head to give them a good view of the numerous scars, the new, pink ones and the older white ones, testimonies of pain and suffering, of somebody lashing into me, hurting me for the sole purpose of breaking me. I knew it had been deliberate. I just knew. And that knowledge almost drove me crazy.

"Me!" I screamed, "And I don't know who or what the hell I am! And you know what? I don't wanna know! I don't wanna know who gave me these!"

A stunned silence fell over the room as I stood there, panting, trying to control my rage. And then a slick voice came from the front door.

"Well, isn't this a nice reunion."


	5. Visits

A/N: This is the last chapter I had pre-written, so this means I have to get to work again...

* * *

**LOST**

**Chapter 5: Visits**

* * *

We all turned as one and stared at the person who had entered without us noticing. It was a tall man with long, almost white hair in pony tail, wearing an immaculate black suit and an arrogant expression on his face. He let his eyes wander over Jack and Maddie, the Mansons, Jazz, standing next to me, and finally rested his eyes on me. I still had my shirt in my hands and I straightened somewhat, looking back defiantly. 

"Daniel, how nice to have you back," the man said.

I must have looked pretty messed up to him, but he didn't flinch. I stared back at him angrily. His tone of voice was enough to have me up the wall.

"Who are you," I said rudely, fed up with all those new people showing up, claiming to know me.

He arched his eyebrows, stepped closer and bend down a little to look me in the eyes. I didn't like his eyes. They were blue and cold.

"So it's really true then," he said, "You don't remember. I thought you were just playing one of your games to get out of jail."

Mrs Manson gasped at that remark and stepped closer to her husband, as if he could protect her from me. Jazz, on the other hand, stepped closer to me, protectively putting her arm around my shoulders. I resisted the urge to push her away. I felt I could use all the support I could get.

"Sweetie, this is Vlad Masters, a very good friend of the family," Maddie said, although her expression belied that remark somewhat, "He helped us getting you the best help there is."

"Anything for you, little badger," Vlad smirked.

He poked my chest with his finger, trailing the most recent scar.

"Playing the hero really doesn't pay, does it," he said, shaking his head.

I slapped his hand away and stepped back. I was hardly OK with Jazz touching me, I wanted him to be as far away from me as possible, billionaire or no. He frowned and suddenly looked menacing.

"You'd better behave, Daniel, because the only thing standing between you and a cold cell in the state prison are my lawyers."

"I'll take my chances," I said, turned around and ran out the front door.

Once outside, I quickly put my shirt back on to avoid attracting attention and started running, faintly noticing the black limousine standing in front of the house. I ran as fast as I could, blindly, not knowing where I was going, the hot summer air burning in my lungs. There were too many people in my house, I felt crowded and insecure, and the billionaire Masters brought about a whole new dimension to my confusing little world. What did he want with me? Why go through all that trouble if he obviously didn't like me?

To my surprise I came to a stop in front of the school Jack and Maddie said I was to attend a week from now. Somehow, I had automatically run here. I started to wonder how many times that Daniel Fenton guy had run to school like this, and if I really was him. If that was so, how was it possible that I didn't even remember my own parents?

I started walking, panting heavily. It was almost four o'clock, the school was empty save for some teachers grading papers. On impulse, I walked to the front door and pushed it open. If I had gone to this school, surely there must be something familiar here? I didn't have much hope though, if I didn't recognize my own house I certainly wouldn't recognize a place I probably didn't like going to. The hallway was empty, the stairs devoid of students pushing and shoving, trying not to fall down in the crowd. Lockers adorned the walls, hundreds of them, containing books and personal possessions, pictures, mirrors.

School had started a week ago. I was supposed to come in this week for testing to see if they could place me into the senior year I should have been in. I didn't look forward to that, nor to the appointments with Mrs Crown every other day at her office. They were going to try and get my memory back, so they could find out what had happened to Sam and Tucker. If my scars were anything to go by, nothing good.

I let the door fall closed behind me and started to walk through the hallways, letting my fingers brush against the lockers and looking into unfamiliar classrooms. When I reached the end of the hallway, I stopped and turned back.

"Mr Fenton?"

I started at the sound of the voice coming from a classroom at the end of the hallway. I approached and looked in, to see a bald, overweight teacher sitting behind a desk near the window, a stack of papers in front of him. He got up from behind his desk and walked towards me, his hand extended. I shook it hesitantly, unsure of how to react.

"I am Mr Lancer," he said, studying my blank look, "I teach English, mostly."

"Oh."

I let go of his hand and started rubbing the back of my neck until I saw him staring at the scar on my arm, the one I received when I destroyed the chair. I forced my arm down again and hid it behind my back.

"I'm sorry," I said, "I really don't remember you. I-I guess I'm trespassing, I should go, really."

He shook his head. "No, that's alright," he said, "I'm glad you came in. It must be hard on you, everybody knowing you, but you not knowing anybody."

I nodded and looked around. The desks were standing in neat rows, the chairs neatly aligned. Posters on the walls, Shakespeare plays, an Esher drawing, a picture of a waterfall with a Confucius quote on it. Windows overlooking the street and the park in the distance. I sighed. I felt like I was looking at somebody else's life, somebody that was just out of my reach. The ghost of Daniel Fenton was everywhere, in the eyes and the minds of the people I met. He wasn't in my eyes or mind though. It was very disturbing.

"Can I... sit here for a while?" I asked.

Mr Lancer nodded. "Pick a seat," he said, "Would you like something to read?"

He gestured at the small bookcase behind his desk, but I shook my head and walked to a desk in the back of the classroom, next to the window. I sat down in it and stared outside. Mr Lancer sat down at his desk again and continued grading his papers.

I was Alan. I was Daniel Fenton. I was both, and yet, I was neither. Alan was somebody I made up, Frank made up and even John made up. They all pushed me into the direction they wanted, and I let myself be pushed, because I had no idea who I was. And just when I was starting to form some sort of identity, a sense of self, however criminal and wrong it was, it was taken away from me. I had tried to hold on to him, but maybe that was wrong. Maybe I should accept the fact that I was who they said I was. But I had a hard time accepting that I didn't remember the people I used to love. The feeling came from deep inside of me, the dead certainty that I should recognize my own mother if I saw her.

Maybe I should try and get my memory back.

The thought scared me. I was pretty sure that whatever it was that had happened to me during the three months I was gone, it wasn't very pleasant. But Samantha and Tucker were still missing, and I needed to find out what had happened to them, if only for their parents' sake. I wondered if I had abandoned them.

I sat there for about an hour, until Mr Lancer demonstratively gathered his papers together, put them into a drawer of his desk and locked it. I tore my eyes away from the view outside and got up as well. I should go home.

"Mr Fenton," Mr Lancer said, "For what it's worth, I'm glad you're back, even if you don't feel you're you anymore."

However had he figured that out?

"And," he continued, "You just picked the seat you always used to sit in. There's something there, you only need to find it."

So the ghost of Danny Fenton _was_ somewhere in my mind. I shivered suddenly, feeling my insides go cold. My breath turned icy and I could see the foggy air leaving my mouth.

"Mr Fenton?"

Mr Lancer sounded alarmed, but I couldn't look at him. My teeth were clattering, and I wrapped my arms around me, trying to stop the shaking and the incessant shivers that ran up my spine. Then I felt hands on my shoulders, shaking me.

"_Oliver Twist_, Mr Fenton! What's the matter with you!"

"Cold," I clattered.

I looked around wildly, staggering against one of the tables. Mr Lancer pushed me down in a chair and I heard him move away from me. I pulled up my legs and buried my head between my knees, my arms around my legs, shaking all over. It happened before, but it had always been brief, and I had ignored it, or maybe even suppressed it. It had never been this bad, and I had no control over it. It was like I was freezing from the inside out.

A warm hand on my shoulder brought me to my senses a little and I looked up.

"I called your parents," Mr Lancer said severely, "They're coming to get you."

I nodded and buried my head once again, trying to shut the world out. A loud crash in the hallway, however, made me jump up. Mr Lancer's eyes had gone wide and he was staring through the open doorway into the hallway. I followed his gaze, trying to control the shivering, and saw what looked like a huge octopus. Floating. Glowing. Thrashing lockers.

"G-g-ghost," Mr Lancer stuttered.

He stepped up to me and pushed me to the back of the classroom, as far away from the door as possible. I was scared out of my mind, but also slightly curious, so I tried to peer past him to catch another glimpse of the ghost. A moment later, I wished I'd never set eyes on the thing.

A long purple tentacle entered the classroom and started feeling its way around, knocking over desks and chairs. Mr Lancer and I pressed our backs against the back of the classroom, trying to avoid the slimy thing. I had a strange feeling like I should do something, but before I could examine that thought, a loud voice and a crash announced the arrival of Jack Fenton. The tentacle shuddered.

"Take that, you ectoplasmic eight legged sea monster!"

A whirring sound and then the sound of something solid hitting something wet. A bubbling shriek, and the tentacle was quickly pulled back from the classroom. Without thinking, I ran to the door, ignoring Mr Lancer's shouts to stay back. I was just in time to see Maddie Fenton hurl a strange device with lots of ropes at the floating purple glob. The ropes wrapped themselves around the tentacles, effectively preventing the octopus to move.

Just as it turned his head to stare at me with eerie yellow eyes, Maddie pointed a humongous gun at it and pulled the trigger. A swirling green vortex appeared next to the ectopus and it was sucked inside, somehow being compressed and deformed to fit through the hole.

The last thing to disappear were it's eyes, and they bore into me, somehow seeing straight into my soul. I kept seeing them when the thing had long gone and the strange swirling green hole had collapsed into itself. The cold feeling left me, and I just stood there, staring vacantly at the lockers on the other side of the hallway.

"Danny..."

Green, swirling, cold, dead, a temporary tear in reality, a feeling of something tearing inside my head...

"Danny..."

Darkness, a veil, separating me from the real world, trapping me so I couldn't get out, voices, screams, a sense of power...

"_Danny_!"

Slowly, I turned to face Maddie, who had pulled her goggles off and her hood down, looking at me worriedly. I knew my eyes were vacant once more, but I couldn't bring myself to push the emptiness away this time. My body had been giving me conflicting messages the entire time, attack, run, attack, run, and all I could do now was just stand there. She caught me just before I toppled over.

"Danny! What's wrong!"

Jack's booming voice shook me out of it and I struggled to get back on my own feet. Maddie looked pale and shocked and as I looked at Jack and Mr Lancer, I saw nothing but concern and worry on their faces.

"Come," Maddie said, "Let's get you to the hospital."

She still had her arm wrapped around my shoulders, so I pushed her away from me and stepped back.

"I'm alright," I said.

"No you're not. Mr Lancer called us. Said you were shaking all over. It must be some sort of relapse, and I really would like you to..." she started, but I interrupted her.

"I'm alright now. Let's just go home."

I turned and walked away, past the now dented and scorched lockers, through the doors into the sunshine. The parking lot in front of the school was almost empty, save for a blue sedan that presumably belonged to Mr Lancer and the strange vehicle that I had learned was the Fenton GAV. The air shimmered above both vehicles and I had to narrow my eyes into slits to cope with the glaring light. Somehow, the normalcy of the place made me feel even more miserable.

"Sweetie, what's wrong?"

Maddie stepped next to me and hesitantly put her hand on my arm. She had noticed I didn't like to get close to her or anybody else, pushing away the people that had known Daniel Fenton and saw him in me. I wanted them to see me instead, although I was uncertain who I was. I shook my head.

"Nothing."

Nothing that hadn't been wrong since I woke up in that cabin, scared out of my mind, hurting all over. I had sat in a corner for almost a day, curled into a ball, waiting for... something. Something, someone to get me, hurt me, find me in my hiding place. I swallowed. I needed a hiding place.

"Please," I said hoarsely, turning to Maddie, "Please, let's just go home."

She said nothing, and we walked to the GAV, where Jack was already sitting behind the wheel. Sensing my mood, Maddie made him sit in the passenger seat though, and he protested lightheartedly. I knew it was just for show. He did anything she told him to.

The house was quiet when we arrived, the visitors had obviously all gone to their respective homes. I didn't care much, as soon as we entered I went up the stairs and into my room. My heart was pounding loudly in my chest and my eyes skittered from place to place, finally settling on a spot between the wardrobe and the wall. I sat down there, surrounded by three walls, but still open enough so I could breathe and placed my head between my knees. As a hiding place it sucked, but I felt a little safer there. I sat there until Jazz called me for dinner.

* * *

That evening I finally managed to relax somewhat. My supposed parents went down into the lab after dinner, and I helped Jazz clean up the kitchen. She showed me where everything went and pointed out the more dangerous spots, like the shelf in the refrigerator containing jars with glowing green goo in it and the oven. 

"Never use the oven," she said, "Dad enhanced it so it'll heat up twice as fast, but your casseroles will glow green. I don't think it'll harm you, but I like my food ectoplasm free."

I smiled a little at that and examined the oven. It looked ordinary, but when I touched the handle, I felt a soft buzzing. Quickly, I jerked my hand back, mentally making a note not to touch the thing again.

"Danny?"

I turned to her to see what she wanted. She had that same look on her face as before, when she tried to tell me I had powers. I frowned.

"Have you thought about what we talked about?" she asked.

I feigned ignorance. "About what?"

She sighed and looked away.

"Never mind," she mumbled, suddenly looking sad.

"Jazz...," I started.

I didn't know how to tell her that, although I was touched by her concern for me, she really needed to back off somewhat. I needed space around me, and I felt crowded in this house with everybody constantly being worried about me. I didn't get the chance, however, because the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it," I said, glad for an excuse to get away from her.

I walked to the door and opened it, to look straight into the smug face of Vlad Masters. For a brief moment, I considered slamming the door into his face, and he must have seen the expression on my face, because he quickly stepped inside, pushing me aside and leaving me no other choice than to close the door behind him and follow him to the living room.

"Daniel," he said pleasantly, "You left so soon this afternoon and I wanted to see you."

He turned around and looked at me, taking in every detail of my appearance, which obviously didn't please him because he wrinkled his nose.

"You look even more shabby than before you left," he said, shaking his head. "Teenagers."

Already I felt the anger rise in me. His disdainful manner struck a chord deep down inside of me, and I wished he'd leave me alone. On the other hand, he was paying for my lawyers, so I should be grateful. With some difficulty I suppressed my anger and tried to be courteous.

"Um," I said, "Won't you sit down?"

The man grinned. "I think I will, thank you," he said.

There it was again. That gleam in his eyes, the knowing look, the utter confidence the man conveyed. A slight movement from the door to the kitchen and a sharp intake of breath alerted me to the fact that Jazz had joined us.

"Vlad," she said coolly, "What do you want?"

He feigned surprise. "Why, Jasmine, I've come to see young Daniel of course. I'm very concerned about his well being. That's why I'm paying his hospital bills and all those lawyers that keep him out of jail."

"Yes," I said, "I mean, you know, I'm grateful for that, but why...?"

"What did you have to do with his disappearance?" Jazz asked in an unfriendly tone of voice.

Vlad looked shocked. "Nothing, my dear Jasmine, nothing," he said.

"Then why didn't you go looking for him?" she asked angrily, "You have the resources. Dad even asked for your help, and you told him you couldn't help him. You must have had an idea of where he was."

I was stunned at her accusations. Why did she think Vlad Masters had anything to do with my disappearance? What did he want from me? I stared at him in disbelieve, and for a moment I thought I saw his eyes flash red.

"I was very put out with Daniel at the time," he said, "As he trashed my lab and destroyed my ghost portal. So even if I had wanted to find him at the time, I couldn't."

I stared at him. I trashed his lab? He made it sound as if I did it on purpose. And he had a ghost portal too... what was it with these people? Their obsession with ghosts was starting to really unnerve me.

"You think Danny was in the ghost zone?" Jazz asked.

I thought about the portal in the basement Maddie had told me about. The thought of entering through it, see the world behind it made me feel both scared and excited. I stared at the stairs leading down to the lab, where Jack and Maddie were at work, oblivious of their billionaire friend on the couch.

"He wasn't in the human realm," Vlad said, "I have ways to trace his ecto signature, not unlike that ridiculous Booomerang Jack created. I couldn't check the ghost zone, because he _destroyed my only access to it_!"

He glared at me at that last remark and I cringed somewhat. Jazz looked sad.

"I would have used the Boooomerang," she said, "But Danny hid it before he left because the thing kept hitting him, and I couldn't find it."

"H-how did I destroy your lab?" I asked.

I had to know. Why was he helping me if I had done that? The image of Danny Fenton in my head evaporated, leaving... nothing. I was now even more confused than before.

"Simple," Vlad said, and although his tone of voice sounded conversationally, I heard the underlaying threat in it, "You took out the ecto filter and waited for it to blow up. That was after you trashed everything that was in my lab, including three very expensive computers."

My mind came to a complete stop, and I stepped back. I started shaking my head. Vlad got up and I backed away, until I had my back against the wall.

"You'd better start behaving," he said menacingly, "I do not like my heir and apprentice in jail. I heard about the condition you were in when you were arrested. You were stone drunk. Don't ever do that again."

I gulped. I thought nobody could instill fear into someone by just looking at him like Terry did, but I was wrong. The look in the man's eyes send shivers up my spine, and I know I looked frightened. He smiled.

"I see you get the message," he said, and with that, he left.

I let myself slide down on the floor, and Jazz was at my side in an instant.

"Come on," she said, looking at the closed front door through which Vlad had left, "Let's get you to your room, you've had enough shocks for today."

She was right. I felt totally drained. First the Mansons, then the ghost at the school and now Vlad. I let her drag me to my room and once there I collapsed on my bed. I didn't care it didn't feel like my room, I was just glad to be laying down. Jazz sat down beside me.

"I'm sorry, little bro," she said, "I should have warned you about him. You hate him. He's your arch enemy. He's a half ghost too."

"Stop," I said hoarsely, "I don't want to hear. I'm tired."

She stood up, shaking her head.

"I know," she said softly, "We'll talk about it tomorrow. Just go to sleep. You'll need all the rest you can get."

How true that was.


	6. Clutching at Straws

A/N: Um... right. Sorry about the wait. I had to make sure I put in everything that should be in here. Hence the length.

* * *

**LOST**

**Chapter 6: Clutching at straws**

* * *

"How did you get into that cabin, Danny?" 

We were sitting in an interview room at the police station, me, my mother, and one of Vlad's expensive lawyers, a Mr Grant. Detective Raskin was sitting on the other side of the table, flanked by another policeman, a younger man with blond, curly hair, whose name I didn't catch. There weren't really any new developments, and I guess detective Raskin was getting frustrated to the point where he tried to put some more pressure on me again. Like I hadn't already told him everything I knew.

"I don't know."

It was early. Way too early for me. I hadn't slept very well, and it showed. My hair was still a mess, hanging partly in my face, and I knew I had bags under my eyes. Jazz had woken me up in the morning, shouting that detective Raskin wanted to see me at nine.

"You must have come there on foot, there's no road near it. Where did you come from?"

"I don't know."

I had managed to fall asleep again after she left for college, only to be rudely awakened again by Jack, who burst into my room with so much energy I wondered if he had somehow supernaturally supercharged himself. He had practically dragged me out of bed and forced me to take a shower, half jokingly and half earnestly saying we shouldn't keep the good detective waiting.

"Were Tucker and Sam with you when you got there?"

Sam and Tucker. Sam. I had stared at her picture last night, trying to see the person behind the image, Jazz's comments about her going through my head. It had been a matter of time. I did anything she said. My alarm clock showed the time with its red digits and I saw it turning one, two, three AM. I had to find her, had to ask her. Did she like me too? Was it possible to fall in love with a girl in a picture?

"No. I don't know. I don't think so."

"Why?"

"Because I was alone. I was alone and scared and they were going to get me and hurt me and I don't know how I got there because my head's screwed up and I didn't know who I was and I was just _there_!"

I started to speak louder and louder, ignoring the shushing sounds my lawyer made. Didn't they see I was trying?

"Who were going to hurt you, Danny?"

"I. Don't. Know." I hissed those last words, leaning forward, bringing my face close to that of detective Raskin.

"How do you know they, whoever they are, were going to hurt you?"

"Do I have to take off my shirt again?"

He sighed, looking frustrated. I couldn't blame him. It must be extremely frustrating talking to me, getting nothing. My head was empty. Empty save for that dark, forbidding place I didn't want to go. Where I probably would have to go anyway.

"About that," Raskin was saying as he took out some pictures and spread them out on the table.

Pictures of me. Taken in the hospital. I remembered that, remembered wondering what they were for. Scars on my chest and on my back, scars on my legs, on my arms. Everywhere. I didn't want to look at them.

"I talked to an expert. A lot of these... injuries were recent," Raskin said, seemingly having trouble finding the right words, "But a lot of them were older, over a year old. Injuries from before you went missing." He glanced at my mother, who looked stunned and more than a little frightened. "Do you have any explanation for that?"

I shook my head. I didn't know what I, as Danny Fenton, had been up to. But I could fight. My throat constricted when I remembered the beating I had given John and Julio. It had felt so... natural.

Maddie picked up one of the pictures and studied it, glancing at my arm. I drew it closer to me. The thin myriad of lines was visible, but barely. The ugly pink scar was rather distracting, but in time, it would fade somewhat until it became a white line, slightly more prominent than the others.

"How could I have missed these," Maddie whispered. She shook her head. "You were always running off somewhere," she said, "Always missing your curfew, always sneaking out at night... I thought..."

She didn't continue, but Raskin finished it for her.

"You thought he was in a gang."

She nodded, but then shook her head.

"No. Because I know him. I know Sam and Tucker. They would never do something like that."

Raskin shook his head. "You didn't know about the scars," he pointed out, "Seems to me he's pretty good at hiding things from you. You should have told us this when he first went missing. Being in a gang is a dangerous occupation. It may have something to do with him and his friends disappearing."

He wrote something down in his notebook. "I'll go and ask Samantha's and Tucker's parents about it again. This is a whole new angle on the case."

Great, I thought, now they're really going to think I'm a criminal. Then I wondered if it was true. What other explanation could there be for my odd behavior back then? A sudden pang of fear rose up in me. Had I endangered my friends? Was it because of me they disappeared? I decided to change the subject.

"How about those scorch marks in the cabin," I asked, turning to Maddie, "What was that all about?"

"They seemed to be the result of ectoplasmic activity... ecto blasts, hitting the wall. But the readings were faint, so we don't have anything conclusive," Maddie said.

Raskin smiled halfheartedly. "If this were any other town, I would have laughed at them, but since this is Amity Park...," he said.

Ghosts, again. They seemed to turn up everywhere.

"Well, maybe a ghost brought me there," I said, half jokingly.

He blinked, but said nothing. I realized that that was a possibility they were considering.

"Ever heard of Danny Phantom?" he asked.

I opened my mouth and closed it again. Something in the back of my mind stirred.

"No," I said.

He shook his head. He hadn't noticed my hesitation.

"The famous, or infamous if you will, ghost boy. Disappeared around the same time you did. We thought there might be a connection."

Green eyes in the mirror. I blinked, and the image was gone. Raskin waved his hand, as if to dismiss the subject and looked down at his notes.

"Now, about that gang you were in..."

I jumped up, angry, and Mr Grant grabbed my arm.

"Detective Raskin," he said, "I thought we agreed the boy was not in a gang, and that he cannot be held responsible for his actions."

I sat down again with a thunk. I listened to Raskin and Grant bicker about it, without really taking in what they were saying. I thought about poor George in the hospital and an angry John and Julio somewhere in prison. How exactly was I not responsible for the predicament they were in?

"Danny," Raskin said, sounding exasperated, "Did any of the people you met during the past weeks give any indication that they knew you before?"

I shook my head. I was sure they'd never met me.

"No. They didn't know me. They didn't even like me very much, I think, but then Aiden died..."

The pain of that suddenly surfaced and I stopped. Raskin repeatedly asked me who Aiden was but I just shook my head and refused to say anything more.

At that point, Mr Grant decided to put an end to the interrogation. I was glad, because even though the morning wasn't even half way through, I was tired. Jack got up when he saw us coming out of the interview room. Maddie wrapped her arm around me and I was too tired to push her off, so I let her. The GAV took us through traffic, and people seemed to recognize the strange vehicle and its irresponsible driver, because we didn't hit anything. Everybody stayed out of our way.

* * *

My parents insisted on taking me to the hospital the next to have me checked out again, which obviously rendered nothing. Then I spent some more time with Mrs Crown, who tried to get me to talk. I sat in silence for half an hour, not wanting to reveal myself too much. I didn't know why, but the feeling to keep everything to myself always got stronger when that woman started asking questions. I needed to hide... something. A secret. I didn't know what it was, but I had a feeling that if I started answering questions, she would find out and I'd be doomed. 

But then I remembered I wanted my memory back. I listened to her friendly voice, talking mostly about family, friends, every now and then looking at me as if to seek confirmation about what she was saying. I decided that it was a safe subject, so to her utter surprise I suddenly turned attentive and tried to answer her questions. She asked about how I was feeling towards my parents.

"I don't know," I finally said, "I know they're my parents, all the evidence points to that, but they don't _feel_ like my parents."

"What does a parent feel like, Danny?"

Like detective Raskin, she insisted on calling me Danny, which I grudgingly accepted. I supposed I'd have to get used to it at some point anyway.

"Like...," I said, "Like I should love them or something."

"You can't force love, Danny."

I shook my head, not knowing how to convert the disassociation I was feeling into words.

"But if I knew them before, shouldn't I at least _feel_ something?"

"Then how _do_ you feel about them?"

"I feel.. sorry for them."

"Why?"

"Because they lost their son. And they got me instead."

Comprehension suddenly dawned on her face, and I wondered what it was she suddenly understood. The hour was up though, and she let Maddie into the room.

"Why don't you wait outside," she said friendlily.

I didn't protest, but stepped outside her office, pretending to shut the door behind me. A secretary was sitting at a desk in the waiting area, so I casually leaned against the wall close to the door, trying to hear something. I have very good ears, but they were speaking softly. I did catch the words 'depression' and 'medication', however.

When they called me back in, they were both smiling hesitantly and I wondered what it wast they had decided about me. I supposed I should have been annoyed about them talking about me behind my back, but truth was, I didn't much care at that point. So I just sat down again and looked at them expectantly.

"Danny," Mrs Crown said, "Would you consider being hypnotized?"

I shifted uncomfortably and glanced at Maddie, who looked at me both hopefully and fearfully. Why?

"What's the catch?" I asked, not knowing what to decide.

It was Mrs Crown's turn to hesitate.

"It's a common treatment for someone with dissociative amnesia," she said, "We might be able to retrieve some of your memory that way. It's something detective Raskin requested, so I can understand if you don't want to do it. But I'm afraid he's going for a court order otherwise, and then you'll have to."

I might incriminate myself.

"I would have suggested it anyway," she continued, "But only after I got a good idea of your state of mind. You've been through a lot."

"You said I had brain damage."

"Yes." She looked down at her hands. "It may not work."

What did she mean by that? Did it mean I would never get my memory back? I'd been reading up on the subject, of course, and I knew dissociative amnesia was connected to traumatic experiences. Did I want to retrieve that? If my brain was damaged, however, I would never get it back. Both possibilities scared me.

"You'd get psychotherapy to deal with what we find," Mrs Crown continued, as if reading my thoughts, "Or, if you like, we can make it so that you won't remember afterwards."

Samantha Manson and Tucker Foley... Since nobody had come to visit, even though my miraculous return had been an item in the newspapers for a day or so before they went back to reporting their usual misery, I gathered they had been my only friends. I wondered what kind of person Danny Fenton had been. Had they been good friends? Had I been a good friend? Did they trust me?

"Alright," I said, "If it means I'll remember what happened to Samantha and Tucker."

Mrs Crown nodded. "We'll do it tomorrow then," she said, "And I'll notify detective Raskin. He... he's going to be there..." She hesitated. "He requested that we do it in the cabin where you first woke up. He thinks it might help you remember, but personally I don't think that's a very good idea. It may be too traumatic."

The cabin... strange thing was, I hadn't thought about it during the past weeks. I had never wondered how I got there, why I had been there. I did remember the fear and the anger when I discovered I couldn't remember who I was. I stared down at my arm. Had I contemplated suicide then? Why? I didn't feel like going back there, but this wasn't about what I wanted. This was about finding two people who had been missing for three months, and somehow my screwed up mind held the key.

"Let's do it at the cabin," I said.

"Are you sure?"

Hell no.

"Yes. If it'll help me remember, we should try it."

* * *

Back home I holed up in my room some more, trying to sort out all the people I had met. Jack and Maddie. OK, my parents. They were nice people, but seemingly totally oblivious of what was going on around them, engrossed as they were in their inventions. I didn't mind though. It was nice to be left alone. 

Mrs Crown. She seemed nice enough. A bit out of touch with reality. Reality wasn't a nice family picnic in the park. Reality was trying to get by, not get caught and ending up dead in the trunk of a stolen car. Reality was running away, hiding, keeping secrets from your parents, from everybody. I looked around my room. Reality certainly wasn't the strange pull coming from the basement, a house full of ghost weapons and a sister who told you you had ghost powers.

Jazz, my sister. I couldn't figure her out. She seemed very protective of me, and I didn't know if that was normal for her of just because I had lost my memory. She had come back home, transferring from Harvard to Amity Park Community College just for me. It was touching, but disturbing. She seemed determined to get me to believe I had powers.

Did I?

I closed my eyes, blocking everything out. I was laying on my back on the bed, my hands behind my head, and tried to feel something. For a while, nothing happened. I couldn't determine if there was anything wrong with me. My mind drifted, thinking about the three friends, packing their things, laughing, joking, maybe teasing Tucker because of his collection of assorted PDA's, a laptop computer and a bag filled solely with DVDs.

Sam Manson, Tucker Foley and Danny Fenton had driven off in Sam's car on that Friday afternoon in May, had stopped at a grocery store to buy supplies and had vanished into thin air. Nobody missed them, nobody found it strange they didn't call as the reception for cell phones at Lake Eerie was notoriously bad, even with the newly installed communication antenna on top of one of the hills surrounding the lake.

Sam had pointed out to her parents where they would be, a small clearing on the other side of the lake, only accessible via a trail starting at a parking lot. A two hour hike, that should have been it. But Sam's car hadn't been at the parking lot, and the camp site showed no signs of recent use. The police had combed the area for a week. Nothing was found. No witnesses, nobody who had seen them after they had left the grocery store in the outskirts of Amity Park. Until I showed up in a totally different place.

I was Danny Fenton. I wished I was somebody else. If my life seemed complicated before, when I was living in that run down house, trying to survive, now I almost wished I was back there. Almost. Everybody wanted something off me, the police, my parents, the Mansons, the Foleys – who didn't want to see me, although they had talked to my parents to wish me well – and even Jazz, with her overbearing sister act. I closed my eyes tighter, balling my fists. There should be a way out of this...

And then I felt cold.

Somewhere, in the back of my mind there was... something. A presence, raw energy waiting to come out, a darkness colder than death itself, lurking, waiting for me to reach for it. I blanched. With it came a flash of utter terror, washing over me out of nowhere, making me whimper. I wanted to crawl into my corner again, but I couldn't move, I felt paralyzed, stuck on the bed, my limbs unresponsive to my urges to move, to get out, to hide.

They were going to get me, beat me, hurt me in every possible way and there was nothing I could do to prevent it. I wanted to crawl through the wall, tear a hole into hit, dig myself out of that dark place with my fingernails, my fingertips bleeding from the effort because I had already tried that.

Silence was my only defense.

If I kept silent, they'd go away. Eventually. A blinding pain shot through me and I couldn't determine where they'd hit me. Only then it occurred to me to open my eyes.

The space shuttle, flying above the earth, it's doors open and a long robot arm coming from it's cargo bay, holding a satellite. I could understand Danny Fenton wanting to be up there, look down upon a world that looked beautiful from outer space. The earth, blue and beautiful from up above, no wars, no famine, no pain. No memories.

I didn't dare close my eyes again. I stared at the poster for a long time until Maddie's voice brought me out of it.

"Danny?"

She knocked on my door, waiting for me to answer.

"Yes?"

"I don't know if you're up to it, but there's someone here to see you."

Great. Another person I didn't know. But it would be a great distraction.

"Alright," I said, "Who is it?"

Maddie opened the door and I sat up. She was followed by a dark skinned girl with curly black hair, who smiled hesitantly at me.

"This is Valerie Gray," Maddie said, "She's in your year. She's a friend of yours."

So I did have other friends beside Sam and Tucker. I wasn't sure about what to do, so I said, "Hi, Valerie," to her.

"Hi Danny," she said, and then we looked at each other.

"I'll leave you two alone," Maddie said and left, softly closing the door behind her.

Valerie stood in the middle of my room and looked around. She was holding something in her hand, and I stared at it, trying to determine what it was. She saw me looking and blushed.

"It's a get well card," she said, handing it to me, "You know, from all of us. I volunteered to bring it during lunch hour. Everybody signed it, although Mr Lancer had to threaten Dash to take him off the football team to do it. You know Dash, he's... oh. You don't."

She looked lost and I felt a bit sorry for her.

"Sit," I said, waving at the swivel chair at my desk, "It's not your fault. It's me who can't remember anything."

Slowly, she sat down and stared at me wide eyed, while I examined the card. It was filled with names, Dash, Paulina, Mikey... none of them meaning anything to me. I shifted uneasily and glanced up at her through the hair that was hanging in my eyes.

"I... thanks," I said, "It means a lot."

She clutched her hands together.

"Um," she said, "Would you like me to help you? I brought a class picture, the one that was taken last year, just before you..."

Just before I disappeared, together with Sam and Tucker. I nodded, and she reached inside her purse and brought it out. Then she sat down next to me and together we looked at it. She pointed them out to me and said their names, but it went right past me. I was staring at the girl who was standing next to me, the girl with the black and green checkered skirt on, the purple eyes, a half smile on her face. Her hand was really close to mine, it was almost like we were holding hands. I smiled.

Valerie seemed to sense I wasn't listening to her, because she fell silent. A knock on the door saved us.

"Danny, Valerie?" Maddie asked, "Would you like something to eat before we go?"

"Go where?" I asked, and Valerie, at the same time, "No thank you, Mrs Fenton, I have to go back to school."

"You're due for those tests," Maddie said to me, "We have an appointment with Mr Lancer." Turning to Valerie, "If you have lunch with us here, I'll drive the three of us to school and you'll be in time for your next class."

* * *

So that's what we did. We entered the school just as students were going to their classes, and I felt their stares on me. I avoided looking at them and looked at the ground instead, letting my hair hang in front of my eyes as usual. Mr Lancer had me sit in an empty classroom and gave me some tests to do while he talked to Maddie. I stared down a the papers in front of me and felt lost. English. First question. Which of the Bronte sisters wrote 'Wuthering Heights'. An easy question to begin with. I breathed a bit easier as I checked 'Emily' and started working, page after page, the questions becoming progressively harder, until I no longer understood what they were asking. 

Mr Lancer entered quietly and I handed him my answers. I had no idea how I was doing, but he just smiled at me and told me to go home and get some rest. That was not what I had in mind.

Maddie and I left the now quiet school, but when we reached the GAV I didn't get in.

"You go ahead," I said to her, "I'm gonna walk for a bit."

She looked at me worriedly, obviously trying to find a reason to not let me out of her sight. I rolled my eyes.

"I'm not gonna kill myself, alright," I said, "I'll be home before dinner."

She sighed, got into the car and drove off. I stood there for a while, watching her leave the parking lot and inserting the strange vehicle into the heavy traffic in front of the school, and then I turned around and headed to the bus stop I had seen on the other side of the school.

I sat on the bench for fifteen minutes before the bus arrived, and I asked the driver for directions on how to get to the hospital. I distilled from his long winded story that I needed to transfer at the bus station in the center of the town, and that it'd take at least forty-five minutes to get there, something that would have cost me only twenty minutes by car. I wondered if I had a driving license and made a mental note to ask.

I couldn't go visit John and Julio in prison. Detective Raskin had refused to tell me about them, but I gathered they were no longer in the police station. They'd have been transferred somewhere else. But George was still in the hospital and would be there for some time to come. I wanted to make sure he was alright.

In the end, it took me almost an hour to get there, and it was almost four-thirty when I entered the main entrance of Amity Park Memorial Hospital. I wrinkled my nose at the familiar, antiseptic smell those places always have, but I didn't mind it much. The large hallway was filled with people, most of them preparing to leave, I saw, and I realized visiting hours must be nearly over. I didn't have much time.

I waited patiently at the counter until the receptionist looked up at me.

"Yes?" she said.

"Could you tell me which room George..."

I faltered. Only now it occurred to me I didn't even know his last name. The receptionist didn't move, but looked at me expectantly, waiting for me to continue. I started to sweat.

"Um... I don't really know his last name. He was brought in five days ago... shot."

She furrowed her brows.

"Look," I said, "He's my friend... we did something stupid. I just want to visit him."

Her hand slid down under the counter as she shook her head.

"I can't help you if you can't give me his last name," she said, and then looked over my shoulder.

A hand was firmly placed on my right shoulder, and I swirled around, ready to attack anyone who would try and grab me. It took me some effort to back down when I saw it was a security guard, looking slightly taken aback by my reaction. I lowered my fists.

"Sorry," I muttered.

I turned around and ran out of the door, past the bus stop and down the street. I heard the security guard follow me for a bit, but he couldn't keep up with me so he let it go. I looked back a couple of times, until I was sure I was no longer being followed and then slowed down into a trod, panting from exertion.

I was lost. Not physically, I knew where I was, but I was out of ideas. I was trying to hold on to the things I knew, but I couldn't get to my friends. I wasn't about to visit Terry and Grace, I was glad to be out of that place, but they were my only connection to my short existence. My parents and my sister – I now acknowledged that they were indeed that – had no connection to 'Alan'. They saw Danny. A troubled, amnesiac, traumatized Danny. As Alan, I was fine. As Danny, I was a wreck.

The roads were gradually becoming busier as office hours ended, resulting in one of the town's daily traffic jams. I made my way through it, walking back to the center of the town. Taking a bus right now would probably result in me never getting there. Walking was faster. I didn't mind walking. I walked all the time when I was delivering my packages.

The exhaust fumes of the traffic were hanging in the warm air, making it hard to breathe. Sweat was pouring down my back as I walked in a brisk pace, determined to get home and maybe hide out in my room some more. Maybe I could come up with a plan to determine George's last name.

It was nearly six o'clock when finally the huge neon sign that was attached to my house came into view. I entered, using the key Maddie had given me and made a beeline for the kitchen.

"Hey," Jazz, who was sitting at the kitchen table behind a stack of books, said, "You look hot."

"I am," I said, staring at the books. "Why did you come back to Amity Park?"

She frowned. "I told you. Our parents need me here, _you_ need me here. I'm doing OK in Amity Park Community College. I can always go back later, when everything works out."

Suddenly, she grinned viciously.

"I'm gonna tutor you in school, baby bro, better get used to it. Mr Lancer called, said you did OK on the English test, but you'll need extensive tutoring to make it in your senior year. So that's what I'm gonna do. Besides that, we need to find Sam and Tucker and for that we need your ghost powers. I'll find a way to access them, don't you worry."

I did worry.

"You're mad," I said, "I don't have ghost powers. Nobody has."

"No?" She leaned forward, resting her hands on the books on the table. "Did you notice a blue mist coming from your mouth sometimes when a ghost is nearby?"

I said nothing.

"That's your ghost sense. You're able to sense ghosts when they're nearby. Something happens inside of you, and you can see your breath, like it's really cold. Like you're freezing on the inside."

That was exactly what it felt like.

"No," I said.

She stared at me, her green eyes boring into me as if to determine whether I was telling the truth, but I kept my face impassive.

"Danny, please," she said, "This isn't like you. You didn't used to run away from problems like this, you always faced everything head-on. We have to save Tucker and Sam..."

I interrupted her. "Well _maybe_ you should stop seeing Danny Fenton in me then. _Maybe_ I'm not him anymore. _Maybe_ I don't _want_ to go out and save people all the time anymore."

She picked up her books and stacked them against her body. Then she turned around and left the kitchen. I thought I saw a suspicious glistening in her eyes, but I couldn't be sure.

I stared after her, wondering what she was up to. Then I remembered I was thirsty so I walked to the refrigerator. I opened it carefully, remembering the strange things that were being kept in there, but nothing moved, save for a small jar with a bubbling green goop that made my hair stand up on the back of my neck. I was just about to grab a soda when I noticed the beer.

A sixpack, standing right beside the sodas. My hand hovered next to it, a million reasons not to take one running through my head. I felt the cold coming from refrigerator against my sweaty t-shirt while I tried to steady myself, taking deep breaths. It wouldn't help. It would make things worse. I really shouldn't.

A soft sound behind me made me swirl, still holding the refrigerator door. Jazz was standing there, looking at me. Had she seen what I had been about to do? I turned, snatched a soda from the shelf and brushed past her to my room.

She was annoying, pushy, overprotective. She saved me.


	7. Hypnotic

A/N: It occurred to me that I hadn't updated this in while... sorry about that. I always start out my stories while they are not completely meshed out. Meaning that there usually are one or more major plot holes. I always solve them, it just took me a little bit longer with this one. I'm on chapter 10 right now, but I need to be sure I don't need to do any more foreshadowing in the chapter I put out, so that's why I'm holding back on posting.

Solved the plot hole now. On with it.

Edit 3/5/2008: Corrected a mistake. Nobody noticed so far, but I feel stupid.

* * *

**LOST**

**Chapter 7: Hypnotic**

* * *

It turned out that we could get closer to the cabin by car than the road I had walked to a little less than a month ago. A small, narrow back road, a trail really, lead all the way up into the hills and the forest, twisting and turning until I had no longer any idea of direction. The cloudy sky provided no clue as to which was south, and the map Maddie was holding just showed a lot of green with a thin black line on it, depicting this very road. I looked at it over her shoulder, but either it wasn't a very good map or I'm not good at reading maps. Or maybe both. 

The police car in front of us had considerably more trouble with the bumpy road than the Fenton GAV, and I was glad I was riding with Jack and Maddie, even if Jack was driving the thing. Jazz was off to college, and I felt both glad and uneasy that she wasn't there. For some reason she was very protective of me, even more so than my... parents. It was nice and disturbing.

Finally, we stopped at a small clearing. I saw no sign of the cabin anywhere, but somebody had tied some yellow crime scene tape to a tree, and upon closer inspection I could see a narrow trail leading into the forest. The doors of the police car opened, and detective Raskin and Mrs Crown got out. They both looked frazzled. Jack, Maddie and I got out of the GAV, and the five of us stood there for a moment, looking at each other. Then Raskin opened the trunk of his car and told us to go ahead up the trail, it was only a thirty minute walk, he'd follow.

"Danny?"

I looked behind me, at Mrs Crown's smiling face.

"How are you holding up?"

She was prodding again. When we met in front of the police station early this morning, she had objected again to Raskin, arguing that it would be better to do it in a more neutral environment. It could traumatize me beyond repair. It was against her strongest advice. Both Raskin and I took note of it and then dismissed it. Jack looked worried and Maddie slightly desperate.

"I'm fine," I said do her, "It's no big deal. There's nothing in that cabin that scares me."

Other than the fact that I had sat there, staring at the blood pouring out of my arm, wondering whether anybody would miss me. Staring at the trains go by at the railroad track, wondering what it would be like to see the thing approach at me. Staring at an empty beer can wondering how much more I could drink before I passed out.

I pushed all of that away. I was way better off now. I had a home, a family, a life. I had a billionaire family friend who took care of my hospital bills and lawyers. I would not go to jail. Too bad I betrayed my new found friends to get here.

It took us even less than thirty minutes to arrive at the cabin, and I examined it from the outside. It was sort of like I remembered it, only it looked even more shaggy and run down. Nobody had lived in it for years. It was probably some sort of hunter's cabin. I followed Maddie inside.

The light shining through the dirty window was barely enough to see by, so Maddie took the old oil lamp from the shelf and lit it. She had brought some oil with her to fill it, and I was surprised until I remembered she had been here before. Then she quickly cleaned the table with a rag she had brought, wiping off black dust.

"Fingerprints," she explained to me as I ran my finger over the back of the one remaining chair, "They took them from all over the cabin. Most of them were your's, there were some others too but they told me they were very old. You were here on your own."

I nodded and examined the wall behind the bed. There were indeed scorch marks there, three parallel ones, as if it was hit with some sort of blow torch. I couldn't make anything from it, but it looked recent. Some dark stains on the floor, and a lager stain near the table. Maddie saw me looking and swallowed.

"Blood," she said. "Yours."

I just nodded. Dr Crown, who had been standing outside waiting for detective Raskin and Jack, entered and looked around. I saw her eyes move from the scorch marks above the bed to the dark stains on the floor. Her eyes widened, and she glanced a my arm before looking away. I started shifting uncomfortably. If she thought I was suicidal, she'd have me locked up.

Then Raskin entered with the video equipment and started setting things up, putting the camcorder on a tripod in the corner near the door, next to the dirty mirror. I remembered that first look at myself, the amazement at what I saw, and how it somehow didn't connect to the feeling of who I was. Jack stood in the doorway, surveying the room, seemingly unsure of his place. His bulk took almost all the light away.

"All set?" Raskin asked.

Dr Crown sighed, looked at me and Maddie for conformation and then sat down on the one remaining chair. Raskin shot us one last look and, as by agreement, stepped outside. I had flatly refused to let him stay in there with me. That was what the video equipment was for. He was going to look at it afterwards. Plus, if I said something that implicated me, he'd have it on tape. The man who was my father had stepped aside to let him out, looked at me and Dr Crown one more time and then left to keep Raskin company. I hoped Raskin liked ghosts.

I sat down on the bed, my back against the wall. Maddie sat down next to me, and I looked expectantly at Dr Crown. This was it. Now we would find out. She reached behind her and pressed the play button of the small cassette player she had brought. A soft, esoteric sounding music filled the room.

"Alright, Danny, let's begin by taking a deep breath in."

I was nervous. I didn't know what was going to happen, not exactly, although she had explained it to me. Hypnosis, Dr Crown had said, isn't about mind control, or making you do funny things without you being aware of it. It's a heightened state of awareness, and you are in full control. She had told me that, and I knew it, but I was still jittery. Maybe because of the video camera standing in the corner, pointing at me.

"Breathe out, let your body relax, let your shoulders drop, let your mind relax, let all the muscles in your face relax. Listen to the sound of my voice. Notice how quickly you can let your body and your mind relax. Because you want it to happen."

I tried to to as she said, still looking at the camera. The cabin itself didn't worry me as much as I had thought it would. It was just there, even shabbier than I remembered, and the only time I shivered was when I looked at the dark stains on the floor again. My blood.

"Another deep breath. This time, as you let it out, let your eyes close. Shoulders dropping, jaw relaxing, you feel relaxed."

I closed my eyes and concentrated on her voice. The strange, esoteric music coming from the small cassette player drifted in and out of my mind. I felt comforted by the fact that Maddie, my mother, was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching quietly. Mrs Crown's voice droned on.

"You allow yourself to be more relaxed than you ever thought you could. Let your eyes roll up inside of your eyelids, as if you're looking up inside your own head. You're looking at the mind's eye. You can see. You can solve problems, easily, effortlessly. Imagine that you are seeing your mind's eye."

This was weird. Not at all like you see in the movies, where someone would swing a watch in front of somebody's eyes and told them they felt sleepy. I didn't feel hypnotized at all. Not that I knew what it should feel like.

"Maybe you see a color, or twinkling lights, or maybe just darkness, let the music relax you, let my voice relax you. Every word that I say floats into your mind, let yourself float to that place in your mind that knows, on the count of three, let your eyelids relax."

Her voice was now the only thing that existed. I listened to her as she talked to me in that soothing voice, not really thinking anything in particular. It was rather nice, really. I felt more relaxed than ever before.

"Danny, I want you to think back to the day you woke up. You woke up, alone, in this cabin. You can open your eyes if you want, and look around. You're waking up and you look around. What do you see?"

I opened my eyes and looked around. A strange place, a shabby place. My eyes wandered over the table, the two chairs, the filthy window with red, flowery rags for curtains. I wondered where I was.

"A strange place," I said, "A cabin of sorts."

Light filtered through the window, sunbeams shining on the floor and the table. How did I get there?

"How are you feeling, Danny?"

Danny? My breathing quickened. The person speaking to me called me Danny. It must be my name, but I didn't remember. I didn't remember anything. Fear spread over me and I whimpered. It'll come to me in a minute, I thought, it has to, everybody knows their name...

"Scared," I whispered, "Who am I? How did I get here? I want to go home..."

"Take it easy, Danny, you have nothing to worry about, you are relaxed and you feel wonderful. Take a deep breath. Return to that safe place, the mind's eye, the place where you can solve all your problems. If you want to close your eyes, you can."

I relaxed instantly and closed my eyes. I had nothing to worry about.

"Danny, we are going to take you further back. You are not in the cabin, but you're going to be there. You don't know that yet, but you're just about to enter the cabin. Tell me where you are, Danny."

Darkness. Cold. Death. Bony hands, touching me. Infinity. I was stuck somewhere, I couldn't see, only hear. Somehow, seeing was blocked, I wasn't allowed to see. I heard voices, some screaming, some whispering. I clawed around aimlessly, searching for a way out, a way to the light, I knew I could do it. And then I saw it. An escape...

I was dreaming. I was sure I was dreaming, because I was flying, flying over the town. I could see the park, the pond, the playground, little toy cars on the road, people walking, small, like ants. It was pleasant. I liked flying.

And then, suddenly, darkness engulfed me and I was alone, floating, cold. A booming voice started talking to me and I tried to listen, but I couldn't understand what he was saying. I strained my ears, knowing it was essential that I would hear, that I needed to do as he said, but I just couldn't make out the words.

Then pain shot through me, through my arms, my legs and I wanted to scream, but I had no air. I needed to stay silent... silence was my only defense. I closed my eyes and endured it. They'd stop, I knew they'd stop, they always stopped, eventually.

And then I was breathing again. Slowly. I was on my back, laying... on a bed? Moving my hands a little, I felt the fabric of the sheets beneath me. Confused, I tried to open my eyes, involuntarily letting out a long moan.

"He's coming to."

A familiar voice, sounding relieved. Again, I tried to open my eyes, this time with a little more success. I squinted up at the hazy frame with brown hair and some blue jump suit.

"M-Maddie," I whispered.

The dream was fading away, thankfully, as I managed to open my eyes all the way and focus on my mother, standing next to the bed, and my father, standing next to her. I looked around. I seemed to be laying in some kind of hospital room, white, with large windows overlooking part of the town.

"What the hell happened?" I asked.

Maddie's mouth twitched and I saw a tear coming from her eyes, but then she visibly gathered herself together. Jack wrapped his arms around her shoulders.

"Mrs Crown will be here shortly, she'll explain," she said.

I shook my head.

"What happened," I demanded, sitting up in the bed.

Bad move. The room started spinning as if I had drunk too much, an all too familiar feeling. I fell back on the bed.

"I didn't drink anything," I said dejectedly.

"I know you didn't, sweetie, we... they had to sedate you. It's the sedation wearing off, that's what you're feeling."

Sedate me? How bad had it been? I didn't remember... A cold fear gripped me. I didn't remember. Again. How come I didn't remember? What was wrong with me? I started to sweat.

"I don't remember," I said, panic clear in my voice.

"No, you don't," the voice of Dr Crown came from the door.

She stepped into the room and closed the door softly behind her.

"What did you do to me? What happened? Why am I sedated?" I asked, the words tumbling out of my mouth.

Dr Crown grabbed a chair and sat down next to me, a serious expression on her face.

"You don't remember because you didn't want to. And you were sedated because you were extremely stressed over something."

I looked outside. It seemed to be around noon. I couldn't have been out for long. Dr Crown saw my gaze and cleared her throat.

"You've slept for more than twenty-four hours. We, um, had to use a high dosage on you. You seemed to resist the first shot."

"So that's why I feel so crappy," I grumbled, "I'd rather have a hangover. At least I'd get something out of it first."

Maddie looked shocked. I had noticed that the beer was gone from the refrigerator in the morning, yesterday morning. Jazz or Maddie? It was probably for the best.

"Would you like to talk about that, Danny?" Dr Crown asked in that friendly, calm voice of hers, a voice that I suddenly hated.

"No," I said.

I looked her directly in the eyes.

"I wanna see the tape."

She looked at my mother, who frowned back at her.

"I don't know," she said, "I don't think..."

"Then don't think. It's my tape. Let me see it. Did Raskin take it with him?"

She shook her head.

"So there wasn't anything useful on it then."

She got up. "Rest," she said, "Recover. We'll see about the tape."

With that, she left the room. Maddie was fidgeting a little, and then moved closer.

"Danny," she said awkwardly, "Jazz talked to me. About the beer..."

I looked away. "Just keep it out of my reach," I said.

I wanted to tell her I really didn't want to drink the stuff, but that it was so easy to do it, so easy to let my mind numb over until I didn't feel anything anymore. That I didn't know what it was like to be happy, as happy as the boy in the picture, the boy that was me and yet wasn't me at all. That I could only laugh when I was drunk.

Instead, I said, "When can I go home?"

It turned out that I could leave whenever I felt up to it, so I declared myself up to it and we left, Jack practically carrying me. At home, I laid down on the couch and watched TV the whole afternoon, feeling better by the hour. Jazz came home, dumped her book bag on the floor and uncharacteristically sat next to me instead of installing herself in the kitchen with her books. I didn't look at her and kept staring at the cartoon on the screen, not really taking in what was happening.

"Mom told me what happened," she said.

I watched a cartoon kid get smacked by his red head sisters who looked oddly familiar. I sympathized with him.

"Are you gonna keep on ignoring me?"

To make a point, I kept staring at the silly cartoon, which also, it seemed, involved a talking dog. I didn't want her analyzing me.

"Danny you can't keep doing this."

"Watch me."

I grabbed the remote and switched channels, landing myself in a CSI version. Jazz grabbed the remote from my hands and shut the TV off.

"Hey," I said, "I was watching that."

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Fine, now gimme that."

I got up and tried to get the remote from her, but she jumped backwards and I stumbled over the soda cans I had accumulated next to the couch. With a thud, I landed on the floor.

"Come on," she said, "You haven't been in the lab yet. Maybe that'll jog your memory."

I hadn't been in the lab because I didn't want to go down there. Whatever it was that was pulling at me, it was coming from there and I didn't want to deal with it.

"Come on," she said, "You live in this house. You can't avoid it forever."

I didn't see why not, but maybe she was right. I sighed and rubbed my eyes, glad that this time she didn't start about me having powers. She had been watching me like a hawk whenever she was home, constantly hinting at strange things I should be able to do. Deciding that it was easier to give in instead of having her nag me the whole evening, I followed her downstairs.

It was nothing like I expected. For starters, the place was huge. It had desks and shelves and closets, all overflowing with what looked like old household appliances. There were soldering irons, loose wires sticking out of half finished inventions, overflowing trashcans, vials containing strange, glowing liquids and a huge metal door.

It was the door that caught my attention. The door was the source of the strange feeling I had whenever I was in the house. I suddenly found myself right in front of it, without remembering having moved at all.

"The ghost portal," Jazz said.

Maddie, who had been in the lab working on something that involved a lot of wiring, stood next to me.

"Our biggest achievement," she said, "Come, I'll show you."

She dragged me away from it and led me to a huge red button.

"Press it," she said happily, "It's a genetic lock. Only a Fenton can open it."

I pressed the button and the doors slid aside. Figures. I was a Fenton. I stared at the strange, green swirling. Maddie was talking to me, but I didn't hear what she was saying, mesmerized by the chill that came off the open portal. I wanted to touch it, feel it, breathe it. My heart was pounding, a slow thump, thump in my ears, blocking all other sound. The tenuous grip I had started slipping away.

Someone shook my shoulders and I blinked. Jazz came into focus, her green eyes looking worried. Behind me, Maddie was still talking, oblivious.

"Close your eyes," Jazz hissed, "They're glowing green. Control it."

Suddenly, I wanted out of there. I closed my eyes obediently and turned myself away from the alluring portal.

"I'm tired," I said abruptly to Maddie, who stopped in mid sentence.

"Oh," she said, "Alright, sweetie, we'll do this some other time then."

I left, letting Jazz guide me up the stairs back into the living room. I sat down on the couch again and wrapped my arms around myself, still acutely aware of the entrance of the ghost zone beneath me. Jazz knelt in front of me and looked me straight into the eyes.

"Look," she said earnestly, "I know you don't want me to say this but I'm going to anyway. You have ghost powers. Look."

She pulled out a strange device she must have grabbed from the lab and turned it on.

"Ghost detected," the thing said in a metallic, flat voice.

She pointed it at me.

"Ghost right in front of you. You must be an idiot not to see the ghost."

She turned it off and put it down.

"All ghost equipment responds to you," she said, and now I heard the despair in her voice, "Danny, you have to try. We have to find Sam and Tucker. You're a hero, Danny, you've never abandoned anybody. They count on you."

I got up, suddenly angry. I didn't want to be a ghost. Ghosts were dead. I was very much alive.

"They shouldn't," I growled, "I'm no hero. I'm a criminal, a loser, a nobody. Just leave me alone."

I ran upstairs, leaving her sitting in front of the couch, looking defeated. Instead of going into my own room, I walked into my parents room, reached under the bed and retrieved the sixpack of beer they had hidden there. Six, I thought, would probably be enough.

* * *

**  
**

They found out – of course they found out, they couldn't really _not_ find out – and hauled me straight back to Mrs Crown the next morning. She tried to get me to talk about what had led me to drink myself unconscious, but I just looked at the floor and said nothing. Her friendly voice droned on in my ears as I studied the design of the Persian carpet on the floor, following it's lines and curves, trying to make sense of it. It was easier than trying to make sense of my life.

Finally, she gave up and called in my parents and Jazz, who had been waiting outside. I didn't look at them when they entered, knowing I had let them down and they'd probably hate me now. I couldn't help who I was, couldn't face myself and felt totally and utterly lost.

My mother sat down next to me and hugged me, and I cringed. She let go. Mrs Crown sighed.

"I'm going to recommend that we increase the therapy sessions," she said, "Whatever it is that is causing his depression and his anxiety attacks, we need to get out in the open so we can treat it. Daniel, I want you to come in daily after school next week. I'd prescribe medication, but I need a diagnosis for that, and right now I can't give you one. If that doesn't work..." She looked at me sternly, "We may have to put you in a closed facility to protect you from yourself."

Great. I was crazy. I shuddered at the thought of being locked up again, so I looked up at her pleadingly.

"Please don't lock me up," I said, "I won't do it again, I promise."

I meant it. I felt horrible, not only from the after effects of the alcohol, but also because I knew I was a disappointment. They counted on me to help them find Sam and Tucker, and all I could do is crawl into my little hole and get drunk.

"We got rid of everything containing alcohol in the house," Maddie said, her voice quavering, "And you can't go out and buy some. I know you didn't want to do it, sweetie, and I'm sorry I didn't notice how stressed you were last night."

She sounded sincere.

"But," she continued, sounding a little bit more secure, "I'm not sure if it's a good idea for him to start school on Monday..."

"No!" I jumped up. "Don't let me hang around the house all day! It drives me crazy!"

As long as I was distracted, I thought I would be alright, although the idea of going to school brought about a whole new source of anxiety. They would all remember me, and I wouldn't know anybody. Fortunately, Mrs Crown seemed to agree with me, so she convinced Jack and Maddie not to keep me at home. Meeting with fellow students, she said, might do me good. It might even jog my memory, although I heard the insincerity in her voice. She didn't really believe that.

We rode home in the absurd Fenton GAV, Jazz and me sitting in the back, Jack driving in his usual kamikaze way. I was actually getting used to it.

"I'm sorry, Danny," Jazz said, leaning over to whisper in my ear, "I know I caused it. If I had known you'd find the beer I wouldn't have."

I glanced at her and shrugged. In the end, it was my own fault. I was the one who didn't want to face his past. She was just trying to help me. I told her that and she looked relieved.

"Good," she said, "Then you won't hate me for what I'm gonna do to you later."

She refused to elaborate, and that got me very worried. I just knew she was planning some psychological assault on me to force me to remember, and although I sort of agreed with her that it was necessary – Mrs Crown wasn't getting anywhere – I didn't know how to handle another emotional breakdown without...

I didn't finish that thought. I had promised. I would keep that promise.

* * *

_If you're wondering about the hypnosis gibberish, I listened to a tape, OK? Didn't want to bore you with all of it, so I abridged it. A lot.  
_


	8. Ghost

A/N: Um... sorry? I had no real reason not to update... I finished this chapter ages ago, the only thing I needed to do was take out a nasty glitch somewhere in the middle and I just couldn't be bothered with actually doing it.

Anyway, please shoot at it. I know it's not the best I can do.

* * *

**LOST**

**Chapter 8: Ghost**

* * *

The weekend actually started nice. I couldn't believe it was only a week ago that I woke up in a prison cell, it felt like much longer. So much had happened during the week, all the old new people I had met, they made my head spin. And I had only just begun. It surprised me how many people knew me. They greeted me in the street, smiling at me, and I hesitantly greeted them back. Then the realization in their eyes, quickly turning to pity, and then they'd start whispering to each other as I passed them by. Unnerving. 

Mr Lancer had crammed a truckload of tests into Friday afternoon, and by the time I finished the last one – Biology – I hardly knew what I was doing anymore. But he had looked pleased, so I figured I did OK. He then had a lengthy talk with my parents, in which he basically confirmed what Mrs Crown had already suspected. I hadn't lost anything of my so called 'intellectual abilities' and knowledge, which wasn't saying much as it seemed I had been a C-student at best. Jazz would indeed need to tutor me if I was going to make it in my senior year.

But on Saturday I managed to sleep until noon, and when I finally got up I felt more rested than I ever had in the brief period of my existence. I still somehow felt like I had been born on that strange day when I woke up in that cabin in the woods. Born, and then quickly skipped forwards past my seventeenth birthday, which, apparently, took place a little over a month ago.

I stomped down the stairs bare feet, not bothering to get dressed properly but still wearing the gray sweatpants and tank top I slept in. There was nobody in the kitchen, but I did hear voices coming from the lab. I hesitated for a moment, wondering if I should go down and see what they were up to, and maybe get another look at that portal again...

I shivered. I kept telling myself I shouldn't go near it, but truth was, I very much wanted to check the thing out. I wanted to feel the coldness of the green swirling ectoplasm. Something in the back of my mind stirred and I quickly turned away from the stairs and returned to the kitchen and poured myself a bowl of cereal. Then I sat down at the table and ate it while leafing through the newspaper.

The president held a speech. War in Africa, terrorists in Asia, stock exchanges went up, or down, or whatever. Ghost fights at the mall and at the library. A huge car accident on the highway, three people dead. I wondered what it was that turned people into ghosts. Did all people turn into ghosts, or only some, and if so, where did the other people go?

"Hello," came Jazz's voice from the doorway, "I see you've decided to get up today?"

I grumbled something and then smiled at her. She walked into the kitchen, carrying bags I recognized as coming from a department store in the mall.

"I," she said in a perky voice, "'Went shopping."

"I can see that," I said, wondering why she was telling me this.

A moment later, I knew. She unpacked her bags, laying out notebooks, an agenda, several reference books and other stuff that you would normally find in school. I looked at her, horrified.

"You're kidding me," I said, hoping against all hope that she would explain to me that this was somehow for her studies.

"I'm going to tutor you," she said brightly, "And I'm going to do it right. We're going to set a schedule, after school and after your session with Mrs Crown. I'll get you back on track in no time."

Her face suddenly turned serious.

"I know you don't like this, Danny, but I can't let you fail in school because of this. I know you're smart. You just have to work at it."

"What about Sam and Tucker?" I asked, "I thought you wanted to find them."

"_We_ can only find them if you remember what happened," she said, "So I thought a nice structured setup with lots of rest might do the trick."

She sat down at the table, still that serious expression on her face. I took another spoonful of cereal, but it had gone soggy. I grimaced and pushed the bowl away. Jazz opened her mouth to say something, when suddenly Jack burst into the kitchen, holding a strange, gun-like device with the ever present wires sticking out. A red light on what seemed to be the barrel was blinking.

"The Fenton Ghost Tracker," he announced proudly, "Look, Danny, we've finally finished it. If we shoot a ghost with this baby, a tracking device attaches itself to the ghost and we can monitor where it's going. It won't let go, even if the ghost goes intangible. And then we can blast it to smithereens with this baby!"

He reached behind his back and dumped a large rifle on the table, right next to my cereal, which wobbled precariously but miraculously straightened without spilling any milk.

"That's great... Jack," I said, suspiciously eying the two ghost devices.

I glanced at Jazz, who seemed very nervous and was trying to warn me with her eyes. What did she mean, that I should get out of there because of the weapons? I wasn't a ghost. I couldn't be a ghost. Therefore I had nothing to fear. Maddie entered the kitchen, smiling brightly.

"We're going to try them out at that old haunted house across town. Any of you interested in coming along?" she asked.

"No mom, we don't want to go ghost hunting," Jazz said before I could say anything.

I hadn't wanted to come along anyway, but I was a bit angry at her for making that decision for me, so I scowled at her. I was about to say that I _did_ want to come along, just to spite her, when she hit me painfully in the shins. I closed my mouth and crossed my arms.

"That's alright, dears," Maddie said, "I didn't think you would. Behave, we'll be back this afternoon."

With that, they left, and I heard the GAV take off in a loud roar, signifying Jack was driving. Maddie, I surmised, must have steel nerves.

"What was that all about?" I demanded.

Jazz shook her head.

"Too dangerous," she said, "All their weapons target you. You have to stay away from them."

"Jazz, I'm _not_ a ghost!"

"Yes, you are! And I'll prove..." Her voice trailed away as she looked at my mouth.

I felt it. That same coldness, that feeling of freezing air coming out of my mouth, fogging over immediately, showing as a bluish streak. I started shivering.

"Ghost," Jazz whispered.

For a moment, she seemed frozen on the spot, but then she thrust forward, grabbed my arm and started tugging me towards the stairs to the basement. I let myself be pulled for a moment, and then grabbed hold of the door frame.

"What are you doing," I yelled, "Let go of me!"

She let go of me and ran to the stairs.

"Come on, you idiot, the weapons vault is down there!"

She didn't reach the stairs. Something came up, something big and glowing and... metallic. He brushed her aside as if she was a doll, and she crashed into the wall with a loud thump. The cold feeling inside of me increased tenfold.

He was huge. Some sort of robot with glowing green eyes, floating in the middle of the living room, looking at me.

"I heard you were back, whelp," he said.

I gulped and backed away, into the kitchen, my hands feeling behind my back until I could go no further, because the table was in the way. I now wished Jack hadn't taken his ecto rifle with him. The huge ghost followed me, phasing partly through the wall because he didn't fit through the doorway.

"W-what do you want," I stuttered, frantically looking for a way out.

"What I always want, whelp," the ghost said, "Your pelt on my wall."

That, I thought, was just gross. A flash of anger went through me, and I straightened a little. Somewhere from deep inside of me the conviction came that I could take this guy. I ignored the little voice in my head telling me to get the hell out of there, and took a step forward.

"Ew," I said to him.

Suddenly, a huge gun was pointing at me, right in front of my nose.

"Say bye bye, ghost boy," he said.

It was reckless. I don't know why, but I remembered my reflexes back in that prison cell. I had stepped forward, trusting, hoping that they would help me again. And they did.

It was ridiculously easy. I saw him squeeze the trigger in slow motion, his finger moving as if he was taking his sweet time, to make me suffer. I had plenty of time. I jumped hight up in the air, back flipping, at the same time lashing out my feet at the gun, kicking it out of his hands. It landed on the floor and the impact caused it to fire. The ecto beam grazed my hair in mid-back-flip and I flinched. Then I landed easily on both feet, crouched and swept my feet under him, intending to bring him down.

That didn't work of course. He was a ghost. He was floating. I did hit him though, and he was swept sideways for a bit, but quickly recovered.

"Danny, catch!"

Without taking my eyes from the ghost I held out my hand, neatly catching the strange gun Jazz had thrown at me from the doorway, simultaneously firing a the metallic ghost with her own. She hit him from behind and he cried out in surprise. With one smooth movement I aimed my own gun and pressed the trigger.

The ghost was now caught in the crossfire. To my surprise, it's metallic face managed to convey his dismay and then anger. I fired again, then rolled out of the way as he tried to blast me with a green ecto blast again.

Things were getting precarious now. I felt severely confined in the kitchen, which didn't give me much space to maneuver with all the appliances, the table and the chairs, now all scattered about. Maddie was going to have a fit. Jazz and I were both firing continuously, and I wondered how many shots I had left. I needed to get out of there.

"Cover me!" I yelled at Jazz, and she started shooting him again, pinning him down behind the table.

I dashed forward, rolled through the door and came to a stop behind the couch in the living room, breathing heavily. Then I glanced around the couch and covered Jazz while she rushed toward me, joining me behind the old piece of furniture. We looked at each other.

"Now what?" I asked.

"He's gonna destroy the house," Jazz said, a scared, but determined look on her face, "We have to either capture him quickly or force him outside."

"I can see you, whelp!"

The couch burst into flames and we both sped away from it, running to the back door. The ghost fired at us again, using one of his guns, and he managed to graze my arm. It left a stinging burn wound which I chose to ignore for the moment. I had other things on my mind.

"How are we supposed to catch that thing?" I yelled at Jazz, after we burst outside into the back yard.

I looked at her worried face as she looked at the house. Why hadn't it come out yet?

"We have to use the Fenton thermos,"she said, and then, after seeing my incredulous face, "It's a device for capturing ghosts. It contains them. But you have to weaken them first, or they're able to escape the beam."

"Do you have one?"

"I dropped it." She managed to look sheepish.

"Great."

At that moment, the ghost suddenly reappeared, not from the house as we had expected, but behind us, rising up out of the ground. Ghosts could go intangible, no need to come through the door. Figures.

"Go get it!" I yelled at Jazz and launched myself at the ghost, hoping he wouldn't suspect that.

He didn't, but he was fast. Almost fast enough. I barely evaded his fist as I slammed mine against his chin in a nice uppercut that would have had a normal person reeling. His head bobbed, but only a little, and his fist hit me in the shoulder, sending me flying. He was aiming for my head, so I counted that as a miss. It did hurt though.

As soon as I hit the ground I rolled, then jumped up onto my feet, only to find that I had dropped the gun. The ghost grinned and I backed away. I didn't think I could do that trick with kicking away the gun again. My eyes darted through the backyard, searching for something, anything I could use, but there was nothing. My back hit the wall. The ghost whipped out a huge cannon from one of his arms and pointed it at me, not close enough for me to grab it. I gulped.

"Say goodbye, whelp," the ghost growled.

I saw that I had hit him good, his metal jaw seemed dislocated. I felt faintly satisfied by that, but not much because it certainly didn't help me. But Jazz did.

Suddenly, the distracted ghost was engulfed by a bright blue vortex, pulling at him. It originated from indeed something that looked like a soup thermos, held by Jazz, who had a determined expression on her face.

"No!" the ghost yelled.

He started struggling, and I could see that Jazz had trouble keeping him in the center of the blue vortex. The ghost fired the cannon and I ducked, just in time. I rolled on the ground, trying to get away from him and painfully came into contact with the ecto gun I had dropped. I picked it up, rose up on one knee and aimed.

It jammed. I screamed in frustration, pulling the trigger frantically, watching in horror as the ghost was fighting Jazz's hold of him. He'd break free, capture us, maybe even kill us.

"Fire, you stupid thing," I yelled, and it worked.

A bright green flare shot out of the gun, hitting the ghost straight in the chest. He wailed, screaming obscenities at us, but could no longer stop himself from being pulled in, strangely deforming, shrinking into the thermos. Once he was in, Jazz capped it and sank down on her knees. I staggered to my feet and walked to her, my hands strangely tingling.

Jazz was just sitting there, staring at me, a glazed expression on her face. I reached her and sat down next to her, feeling numb. It was then that I noticed the pain in my left arm.

"Let's get inside," I said.

Neither of us moved. I looked around the small backyard, the shed on the other side, the gate in the fence. There was a beam between the shed and the house, with hooks in it as if a swing had hung there at one time. I tried to picture the swing, tried to picture me sitting on it, being pushed by my father, but I couldn't penetrate the dark veil that separated me from my past. There was nothing there. Maybe there hadn't been a swing.

I got to my feet and held out my hand. Jazz took it, and allowed me to pull her up. Together, we went inside to have a look at the damage, which was extensive. Jazz grabbed the fire extinguisher and used in on the couch, spraying it with a thick layer of foam. It did wonders for the fire, but nothing to make it any cleaner.

"Great," I muttered, throwing the ecto gun on one of the chairs, "Now what?"

"We clean it up," Jazz said, "And then we take a shower."

I looked at her scorched hair, her black face, her torn clothes and wondered what I looked like. Probably about the same. Somewhere deep down in me a hysterical little Danny started laughing, and I clenched my jaws. I was not going to lose it. Jazz picked up my gun.

"What was the problem with it?" she asked, and then, "Oh. It's empty."

"It jammed," I responded, "And then I got lucky."

She looked at me strangely, a half frightened, half excited expression on her face.

"You fired that ecto beam," she said.

"Jazz, don't start."

I looked at my tingling hands. There was something about me alright. Something strange and terrifying. The way the ghost portal kept pulling me down, the icy feeling whenever a ghost was near... My mind shied away from it. The more I pushed it away, however, the more prominent the whole thing became. I was some sort of freak, sensitive to ghosts.

"I know it's scary, Danny," Jazz was saying, "But I need you to try. We all need you to try. Please..." She was almost crying now. "We miss your friends. Sam and Tucker. You can help them, I know you can."

The worst of it was, I knew she was right. I felt like banging my head against the wall, to try and knock some sense into me. I was prepared to face whatever it was that had me lose my memory. I was, however, not prepared to accept her suggestions about me having powers.

"Come on, Jazz," I said, "Don't you think I want to find them too? I'm not totally heartless, even though I don't remember them. Nobody deserves to have their son or daughter disappear like that."

She shook her head. "I'm sorry, Danny," she whispered.

She approached me and I backed away. I didn't like the determined look on her face, the sorrow in her eyes, the way she cornered me near the stairs. But she stepped past me and opened the door to the closet under the stairs.

"Come," she said, "Look at this."

She was up to something, I could feel it. I approached her warily, wondering what it was she wanted, and looked inside the closet. It was full buckets, mops, a vacuum cleaner, lots of cans and cannisters on shelves. All in all, it was rather cramped. She pushed me and I stumbled forward, into the closet.

"Hey!" I yelled, trying to turn around, my foot stuck inside a bucket.

The door closed behind me and I found myself in total darkness. Some cans fell on my head and I yelped in surprise and pain.

"Jazz!"

Again, I tried to turn around, my hands almost instantly finding the back of the closet. It was really cramped in there. I didn't like it.

"You can get out, Danny," Jazz said.

"Open the door!"

I couldn't turn around, so I reached backwards and tried to feel the door, searching for a doorknob. There wasn't any. My breathing quickened. I heard some scraping sounds outside, and I deduced she was trying to push a chair against the door to prevent me from breaking it open. I thrust myself backwards against the door frantically, but I had no room, no way to get some leverage.

"Jazz!" I pleaded.

I couldn't move. I tried to get my arms up, to push against the back of the closet, but there was no room. Trying to stay calm, I ceased all movement. She would let me out. My parents would come, and they'd let me out. Instead of comforting me, the thought scared me. How long would they be out?

"Danny..."

I said nothing.

"Danny, are you alright in there? You can get out yourself, you can go through the door. You have to try."

A sob rose in my throat and I started to sweat. For some reason, I had trouble breathing.

"Danny I know you don't like tight places, you never did. I... I locked you in that closet once, when you were four... and then I forgot about you. Mom got you out half an hour later and you... you were crying and, and ... you never wanted to play hide and seek again..." She sounded close to tears. "And then high school came and Dash put you in your locker all the time and I know you hated that... But when you got your powers, you always got out easily... I don't want to do this to you. But you can get out easily, please believe me. You fired that ecto blast. You can go intangible."

Bright flashes in front of my eyes. I listened to her voice, trying to fight off the panic and the feeling of helplessness. Again, I tried to move, and the closet seemed to have become smaller somehow. It was crushing me.

"Jazz..."

My voice was hoarse. Like I was choking. I really needed to get out of there. I pushed again, but that only served to increase my fear, so I stopped quickly. Intangible, I thought, how do I do that?

I reached. At this moment, the darkness inside my mind was less scary than staying inside that closet. I wanted to go through the door. Instead of pushing, I imagined myself falling through it.

I was on the floor, on my back, gasping for air. A red flurry of hair bend over and grabbed me, hugged me, pulled my head on her lap. I moved my arms aimlessly, and then reached and grabbed her, clung on to her.

"You did it," she cried, "I'm so sorry, little bro, but you did it! You went intangible!"

I did. Still breathing heavily, I clung on to her, terrified from being in that closet and even more terrified of the way I escaped it. I had done the impossible. I had gone _through_ the door. I held on to my sister, my grip painful on her arms, trying to reassure myself that she was there, that I could feel her, that there was nothing wrong with me other than being a little stressed. She held me right back with the same desperation.

Finally, with some difficulty, I pried myself loose from her grip and sat up, staring at my hands. Intangible, I thought. Nothing happened. Tentatively, I reached inside of me, trying to touch that powerful core I knew existed there, but it slipped away from me. For a moment, my hands disappeared from sight. Invisibility.

"Incredible," I muttered.

She jumped up, beaming at me. She had me convinced. But we weren't there yet. I took a deep breath, scrambled to my feet and stepped closer to her. I didn't know what to say, so I looked around the room and the mess we'd made... the ghost had made. The thousand things I wanted to say got stuck somewhere between my head and my mouth, culminating in "Let's just clean up this mess for now, alright?"

So that's what we did. It took us nearly two hours. The kitchen was the worst, as that had been where most of the fight had taken place. We couldn't do anything about the scorch marks on the walls or the burnt couch, but we did have a reasonable explanation for that. After all, we were living on top of a ghost portal.

We took a shower and I finally got dressed. Jazz tended to my arm, wrapping bandages around it like a pro. I sat on my bed, watching her silently until she was done and closed the first aid kit.

"Don't worry about it," she said, "It'll be gone in the morning. This is minor."

She got up. "Come," she said, "Let me show you something."

I followed her to her room, a distinctly female room with pink bed covers, an old stuffed animal, and lots and lots of books on shelves on the wall. A desk with a computer, like mine, and there too books, laying open. Jazz went to her bed and reached under it, moments later retrieving what seemed like a scrap book. She beckoned me to come closer and I sat down on the bed beside her.

"Look," she said, "Danny Phantom."

The scrap book contained newspaper articles. Hundreds of them. Some had blurry pictures of a black and white streak in the air, or some black form punching a huge glowing green one. One picture seemed a little clearer, a lucky shot from a amateur photographer that had probably gotten good money for it. It showed what seemed like a teenage boy in a black jumpsuit with white gloves and white boots. The most striking thing about him was his white hair and his green eyes, that seemed to glow even on the thin paper. He looked awfully familiar.

"It's you, Danny," she said.

I sat very still. The articles in the newspaper seemed to be of two minds about Danny Phantom. Some praise was there, about helping people out of a burning building, some doubts, about damage to houses and cars during a ghost fight, some outright hostile, about robberies and kidnapping the mayor.

I leafed through the book, trying to grasp it all. Then I leafed back to the article about the robbery of a jewelry store. Right there. I now understood how I had gone along with John so easily. If I really was this Danny Phantom, I obviously had done it before. Jazz saw me looking at the article.

"It wasn't true, Danny," she said, "You were being controlled."

"How do you know that?"

"Sam and Tucker told me. In the end, you managed to overcome that control and save your friends. You destroyed the... thing that was controlling you."

I put the book down and walked to the window.

"What about our parents?"

There. I said it. My parents.

"They don't know. I've wanted to tell them in the past months, but I kept hoping you'd return... and it wasn't my secret to tell. I kept setting deadlines for myself, if you weren't back by the end of the week, by the end of the month, I'd tell them..." She took a shuddering breath. "I guess I just never lost hope."

My mind in turmoil, I kept staring at the street below, trying to make sense of my thoughts, of this incredible tale that was true nonetheless. 'Complex' didn't even begin to describe the situation I was in now. I turned away from the window and sat down next to her again, and let her talk about ghosts, powers and oddities I seemingly had been accustomed to. This time, I listened.


	9. School

* * *

**LOST**

**Chapter 9: School**

* * *

I squinted at the paper on which the secretary had drawn a crude floor plan of Casper High, a large X on the place where my locker was supposed to be. Standing in the middle of the hallway, students rushing past me, bumping into me and for some reason finding it necessary to scream at the top of their lungs right beside my ears, I had a hard time concentrating. I definitely wasn't good at reading maps.

"Here," a voice said, taking the piece of paper from my hands and turning it around, "See?"

I looked up, right into the smiling face of Valerie Gray. I blinked at her, opened my mouth to say something, but never got the chance. Someone bumped into me, hard, and I stumbled forward, right into a group of giggling girls. Giggling, save for the one I bumped into and grabbed a hold of to keep me from falling. She scowled at me.

"Eek," she said disdainfully, "Let go of me, loser."

I righted myself and looked at her. She looked Hispanic, and she was stunning. Perfect green eyes, perfect black, curly hair, perfect skin. It took a whole five seconds before I realized I was staring.

"Uh, sorry," I said.

Only then I turned around, to see who had knocked me into her arms. He was standing next to Valerie, who looked nervous and was trying to mouth a word to me which I didn't understand. He was huge, at least a head taller than me, wearing one of those letter jackets. A football player, I decided, probably the type that liked to wail on people that were smaller than him. He picked the wrong guy.

"Fentonia," the jock said, "They said you were back. They said you lost your memory. So I'll have to remind you who's the boss around here."

I scowled at him. Students had gone quiet around us, backing away, giving us space. I liked space. Gave me more room to take a swing at him. And then Valerie stepped forward, placing herself between me and the jock.

"Dash," she said, "You don't want to do this. Come on, it's his first day."

So that was Dash Baxter. The one who had refused to sign my get-well card until Mr Lancer made him. I stretched a little, rolled my shoulders, quietly loosening my muscles for the fight that undoubtedly would take place. I was going to kick his ass. The way I saw it, he was all muscle and no brain. The only thing I had to do was stay away from his punch and that wouldn't be hard. Football players are predictable, they rely heavily on intimidation. A kick in the stomach, and he would be down, allowing me access to his neck...

And then I stopped. What was I doing? Was I looking forward to a fight? Was I looking forward to bringing him down, rehearsing the kicks and blows in my mind as I looked at him?

"Of course I do," Dash said, "I have to teach him his place right from the start, right Fentina?"

I took a shuddering breath and tried to relax, tried to take a less threatening pose. I lowered my fists somewhat and looked at Valerie, who was still standing in the way. I was glad she was standing there, it prevented me from hitting Dash.

"_Of Mice and Men_, what's going on here?"

Mr Lancer pushed himself through the crowd and looked at us, two boys standing in what could be interpreted as a fighting stance, the black girl in the middle, trying to stop it. Dash straightened.

"Nothing, Mr Lancer," he said, and jerked his head in my direction. "I was just showing him his locker. He seems to have forgotten where it is."

Mr Lancer looked at him and then at me. I nodded and let my hands fall to my side. He turned to Valerie.

"Ms Gray," he said, "Please escort Mr Fenton to his locker. Mr Baxter, I'm sure you need to be elsewhere."

With that, he turned around and left. Dash stepped closer and smirked at me.

"I'll catch you later, Fentoad," he said.

"Whatever," I answered, but he was already leaving.

Valerie took my arm and dragged me through the crowd to my locker. She took the slip of paper that contained the combination from my hands and opened it for me. I was still staring down the hallway in the direction Dash had disappeared. What would have happened if Mr Lancer hadn't shown up, defusing the confrontation?

"Pay attention, Danny," Valerie said, "This is your combination, 2-4-9. Danny?"

I looked down at her and smiled halfheartedly. "2-4-9, got it," I said.

I opened my heavy backpack and took out the books I didn't need in the morning. The bell sounded and Valerie punched me.

"Come on, hurry up, what's your first class?"

I gave her my schedule and she studied it for a moment. "OK, you're in Biology first, room 2.14, come on, I'll take you there."

I shook my head. "No, it's alright, you go to your class or you'll be late. I'll find it. They won't give me detention on my first day, will they?"

"You'd be surprised," Valerie grumbled, but she smiled gratefully and rushed off.

I stared after her, wishing for a moment that I hadn't let her go, but then dismissing it. I couldn't let her hold my hand all the time, I'd have to do this on my own. I put my books in my bag, made sure I had a notebook and some pens, and then went up the stairs to the second floor.

The hallways were emptying, the last students shutting the classroom doors behind them and suddenly I found myself alone. I glanced up and down the hallway and started to walk in the direction I suspected room 14. My footsteps were echoing against the rows of lockers, but in a strange way, I found the emptiness of the place comforting. Way too soon I reached room 14.

I heard the noise of people talking inside, and a louder voice asking, demanding, silence. I put my hand on the knob and hesitated.

There would be people in there, people who knew me. They'd stare at me with those knowing eyes, assuming things about me that I didn't know about. On the other hand, if I slipped into the room quickly, while they were still talking, I might get in unnoticed. I opened the door.

All thought about entering the classroom without anybody seeing me evaporated as the class suddenly went quiet. Everybody turned their head to the door and stared at me. I quickly averted my eyes and instead looked at the teacher, a short, plump woman with graying hair and round glasses, Mrs Kimble. She looked at me wide eyed, but then she recovered and gave me a warm smile.

"Daniel," she said, "Please come in. Mr Lancer told me you were coming."

I stepped into the room, resisting the urge to rub my neck and the back of my head, feeling my now strangely short hair. My mother had insisted on cutting it the day before, and I now bore an uncanny resemblance to the boy in the pictures. I knew what everybody saw now. Danny Fenton, nervous, scared, unable to tell how to react to the people in the room. I wish I was somebody else instead, somebody who really was new. Then they'd cut me some slack.

Mrs Kimble walked up to me and placed her hands on my shoulders, turning me toward the class. I tensed.

"Now, class," she said, "You all know Daniel here, but give him some space. Why don't we start with each of you introducing yourself to him, so that he knows who you are. Who knows, maybe one of you will jog his memory."

She was way too happy. I could hear it in her voice. She thought I shouldn't be here, that I should be in some institution. I was a mental case. A retard. The dark mood, that I had managed to push away for most of the weekend, settled down on me again.

I looked at the people in the classroom as they said their names, some friendly, some bored, some even accusingly, as if I made them do something they didn't want to. I stared a little too long at the Hispanic girl whose name was Paulina, the same one I had bumped into when Dash pushed me, and she scowled at me. When everybody was done, I was sure I caught only about half of the names.

"Come," Mrs Kimble said, "Sit over here."

She pointed at an empty desk at the front of the class, close to her desk. She obviously wanted to keep an eye on me. Without protest I sat down, glad to no longer be the center of attention. I rummaged through my bag until I found my biology book and dutifully took out my notebook and a pen. I was all set.

"Daniel, please tell me if I'm going to fast for you," Mrs Kimble said.

I sank a little deeper into my chair and nodded. Hadn't Mr Lancer told her I passed the Biology test? I heard some snickers behind my back, but I ignored them. Mrs Kimble started to draw something on the blackboard and talking about cell division, every now and then glancing in my direction. I tried to look attentive, but in reality, my mind wandered.

Jazz and I had spent the weekend looking for ways to access my ghost powers. The problem was, neither she nor I had the faintest idea on how they worked. I had no idea on how to turn myself into Danny Phantom, even though she described the process in great detail. But she couldn't describe to me how Danny accessed it, how he made it happen. I had a feeling that dark spot in my mind had something to do with it, but I couldn't reach it. It was like looking through a window, seeing what was behind, but unable to touch it.

She also reminded me of my computer, which had been standing idle at my desk the entire week. I hadn't turned it on since that first day, way to preoccupied with other things. The police had impounded it when I disappeared, but had returned it after they found nothing of use on it. Jazz had laughed at me when I said I didn't know the password.

"Even the police found it on the first try, you dork," she said.

She sat down behind my computer and entered the password. "It's SamFenton."

That sounded like something Danny could come up with and I smiled. "Too easy," I smirked, mentally making a note to change it into something that couldn't be figured out by the first dork that tried it.

To her surprise, however, there was nothing on it. Some old homework assignments, an old version of Doom, loads of pictures that I quickly covered up, but other than that, nothing a normal teenage boy wouldn't have on his computer.

"That's strange," Jazz said, "You used to have loads of files on ghosts on here. I've seen them. Pictures, descriptions of their powers, when and where you fought them..."

A dead end, again. I had discussed my state with her endlessly, trying to figure out what I was. It seemed I didn't have a pulse when I was in ghost form, nor did I need to breathe, and I was very cold. No ghost can transform into a living, breathing being, however, so I wasn't a real ghost. I wasn't dead. I wasn't fully human either. No human can go invisible at will, or fall through doors like I did on Saturday.

Mostly, I concluded, although I didn't say it out loud, I was a freak.

"Daniel Fenton, _what_ are you doing?"

I looked up in shock, right into Mrs Kimble's face. Some people started laughing, and I didn't understand what the problem was until I saw what it was I had been drawing. It had started out as a copy of what Mrs Kimble had drawn on the blackboard, but at some point I had started drawing a strange, angular face with back holes for eyes. I had pressed my pencil in the paper with such force that I had ruined the pages behind it too. I shivered.

The bell sounded and the class erupted in noise, clattering chairs and loud voices.

"Pages fourteen through twenty, plus the exercises on page twenty-one," Mrs Kimble shouted. I wondered if anybody heard her.

"Daniel, please stay for a moment," she said as I was about to leave the room.

I looked at her questionably. She hesitated, fidgeting.

"I'm not sure... your parents want you here, and I can understand that, but are you sure... I mean, shouldn't you be... I don't know if you can handle this course, Daniel."

I tried to control my anger. It wouldn't do to go shouting at a teacher on my first day. It would also confirm her opinion of me.

"I can handle it fine," I said curtly, "I passed the test Mr Lancer gave me. Surely you know that? Besides, my sister is tutoring me."

"Now, now," she said, looking defensive.

I noticed I had advanced on her while speaking and I stopped. She had paled. I _was_ taller than she was. Carefully, I stepped back and tried to smile, wondering what it was exactly that made her afraid of me. A moment later, she told me.

"I spoke to Mrs Manson the other day," she said hurriedly, as if trying to placate me, "And she said to me that you were... hanging with the wrong crowd, that you might be... unfit to attend school. You _are_ seeing a psychiatrist aren't you?"

Mrs Manson. Detective Raskin, talking to her about my supposed gang membership. And her spreading the word. The anger that I had successfully suppressed exploded.

"What of it?" I yelled, "I'm not crazy! I'm just talking! And I'm not a criminal, so quit treating me like one."

With that, I turned around and stormed out of the classroom, slamming the door behind me. I stood in the hallway for a minute, trying to regain my composure, attracting strange looks from my fellow students. Then people began pushing past me to enter Mrs Kimble's classroom, and I realized I had to hurry for my next class.

I stepped aside, dumped my backpack on the floor and started searching for my schedule. The hallways were emptying again, and I was going to be late for my next class too, which was... English from Mr Lancer. I sighed in relief. He'd be a little more understanding.

I dragged myself to his classroom, the same one I had been sitting a week ago when I had run out of my house, and again I got stares when I entered. Mr Lancer waved me to my seat in the back, and I gratefully sank down in it. I didn't bother taking out my books this time, but just started staring outside.

One hour of school, and I was already feeling depressed again. Apparently, Valerie was my only friend. And I only shared one class with her, math in the afternoon. This was going to be a long day.

"Mr Fenton, it's nice that you decided to join us physically, now if you would please also join us mentally..."

I tore my eyes away from the window and looked at Mr Lancer, who bore a stern, but not entirely unfriendly look on his face. Dejectedly I took out my English book and my notebook. For the rest of the class I stared at the blackboard, not really taking anything in, but at least Mr Lancer didn't complain. He looked at me worriedly a few times, but seemed to think that since I had my eyes open, I must be listening.

I had asked Jazz if she could find out George's last name. She had frowned, but then had promised to call a friend, who was a nurse at the hospital. I hoped he was still there. I needed... I didn't know what I needed. Some form of absolution, some sort of acknowledgment that I hadn't meant for him to get shot. A confirmation that I still was who I thought I was.

The bell sounded quite suddenly, and I jerked up. Without looking at anyone, I gathered my books and sauntered out of the classroom. I was called back by Mr Lancer.

"Mr Fenton!"

I returned to the classroom and waited for the other students to clear out. They were shooting curious glances at me, and I did my best to ignore them, staring moodily at Mr Lancer's desk. I hated being the center of attention. I'd much rather be invisible.

"Mr Fenton, how are you holding up?"

I jerked my head up and stared at Mr Lancer's worried face.

"OK, I guess," I said, not sounding very convincing.

"If you need help with something, you'll tell me, right?" he asked.

I nodded vaguely. "Can I go now?" I asked, "I'll be late for my next class."

"A moment." He scribbled something on a slip of paper and handed it to me. "Your homework. I noticed you didn't write it down."

I felt my face glow as I mumbled a thanks, and hurried out. Again, I had to check my schedule, again I was late in class, and again people were staring at me when I quickly rushed to the back of the room. I was keeping my head down, so I didn't see it coming. Just as I passed Dash, I tripped, falling face first on the floor. I only just managed to keep myself from breaking my nose. The class laughed.

Slowly, I pushed myself up and looked up at Dash's grinning face.

"Oops," he said.

My left foot lashed out and hit him in the shins. He hadn't expected that. He let out a yelp in both pain and anger, and next thing I knew he was on top of me, landing his fists on my face. I managed to evade some, but not all, and then brought up my knee to hit him in the groin. I pushed the groaning jock off me and hit him in the stomach for good measure. Then I got up, brushed the dust from my pants and looked up, right into the stunned face of the science teacher, Mr Faluca.

The class was silent now. Dash was on the floor, curled up, holding both his crotch and his stomach. He was breathing in short gasps, his eyes tightly shut, and I wondered how hard I had hit him. Mr Faluca found his voice.

"Mr Fenton," he said, "Principal's office. Now."

I stared at him and then at Dash.

"What are you talking about," I said, "He attacked me. I was only defending myself."

I looked around the classroom, but they all averted their eyes. No help there. My blood started to boil. I stepped closer to Mr Faluca, breathing heavily. He was a small man. Like Mrs Kimble before, he backed away. I closed my eyes.

"Fine," I said.

I picked up my bag, left the classroom and slammed the door behind me. Instead of going to the principal's office, I walked into the nearest restroom and leaned on the wash basin. I felt like smashing something, but luckily the school's restrooms were made with exactly that state of mind in mind. Everything was very heavy, and bolted down to either the floor or the wall.

I bend over, turned on the tap and splashed some cold water into my face. Then I straightened to look in the mirror.

Short, black hair, longer in the front, almost hanging in my eyes. Mouth set in a thin line. Clenched jaw. Cold, hard look in my eyes. Not exactly a face to make friends with. I tried to smile at myself, but it was so clearly a fake one that I dropped it immediately. I picked up my bag and left the cold, tiled room, and started searching for the principal's office.

* * *

In the end, they only gave me lunch detention, since I hadn't been the one to start it. I didn't mind, because the thought of going into that crowded cafeteria scared me a little. I wouldn't know who to avoid, or where to sit. Valerie might have been able to help me, but I hadn't seen her all morning, and I didn't even know if she had lunch with me. But it didn't matter, because instead of making my way through the crowd there, I was sitting in a quiet classroom with a few other students, including, to my surprise, Dash.

"I'll get you for his, Fentina," he said.

I looked at him in surprise. Didn't he see that I could kick his ass anytime I wanted to? He just grinned at me and bend over.

"I have friends," he said, "And you don't. We'll get you after school. You won't see it coming. Better start saying your prayers."

"Mr Baxter, no talking during detention," Mr Lancer said.

He looked at me, and I saw disappointment in his face. I looked back angrily. What was I supposed to do, let them walk all over me? I wondered how the old Danny had handled all of this.

I spent the rest of the day worrying about how to avoid Dash and his friends after school. I wasn't afraid of them, but if there were a lot of them I might end up killing one of them. That thought terrified me. I needn't have worried though, because Jazz picked me up in her pink convertible.

"Hi, little bro," she said a little too cheerfully as I got in next to her, "Did you write down your homework?"

I nodded. I didn't say anything during the short drive to Mrs Crown's office, but I was grateful that she was there. It occurred to me that I had grown dependent on her. That made me a little uneasy. I didn't like to be dependent on someone.

"Mom asked me to do some grocery shopping," she said when I got out of the car, "I'll pick you up in an hour, OK?"

I waved at her, entered the office building, and took the elevator to the fifth floor. The secretary made me wait for a few minutes, and then I was let into the large, friendly room with the heavy oak desk and the comfortable chairs. Mrs Crown smiled at me and I sat down in my usual place.

"Danny," she said, folding her hands in the way only a doctor can do, "How was your first day at school?"

I shrugged and avoided her eyes. I knew I had to talk, but I'd much rather forget everything. It was like staring at the mess in my room, knowing I had to clean it up, but not knowing where to start. Only I couldn't walk away from this.

"School," I said, "Like... you know. School."

She frowned and leaned forward a bit.

"Danny, I really need you to be a little more forthcoming. I can't help you if you won't talk about what happened."

She had talked to Mr Lancer. I slumped down in my seat some more.

"He attacked me," I said, "I was only defending myself."

She shook her head. "That's not all," she said, "The whole day, you seemed to be... not there. Like you were somewhere else in your mind. Yes, I talked to Mr Lancer. He's worried about you. He says it's very unlike you to retaliate like that when someone bullies you. Where were you the whole day, Danny?"

"In class," I said, "Where I was supposed to be. Not counting the half hour in the principal's office."

"No, I mean..."

"I know what you mean. I was worried, alright? I'm sitting in school, and Sam and Tucker are still missing and we're not doing _anything_ to get them back. The police think I was in a gang, and maybe that's true, who knows, but just sitting here talking about how I'm doing at school is not going to bring them back!"

I was standing now, leaning my hands on the desk. She too leaned backwards, and I saw a momentary glimpse of fear cross her face before she managed to put it back into her normal, vaguely friendly expression. Her too? What was it with me? Was I really that frightening?

I backed down a little, but not much. "Can't we try that hypnotizing thing again?" I asked.

She shook her head. "I'd rather not put you through that again, Danny," she said.

"Why not? What's on the tape? You promised to show me that tape."

She glanced at the cupboard in the corner, and then looked back at me.

"Not yet," she said.

For a moment, I fruitlessly tried to suppress my anger.

"What is it with everybody," I hissed, "You're all trying to keep things from me. Raskin won't tell me anything about the investigation. You won't show me the tape. Hell, even I am keeping things from me. I can't stand that."

"We're trying to..."

"To protect me. I know. I don't need protection. I'm stronger than I look."

"Everybody needs protection, Danny."

"Don't give me that psycho babble. Talk like a real person. Let. Me. See. That. Tape."

Again, she glanced at the cupboard in the corner. By that time, I got it. I walked over, yanked the thing open and started rummaging through the stuff on the shelves. Lots of tapes. I was about to take them all out when Mrs Crown pushed me aside, an annoyed look on her face.

"I want to discuss this with your mother first," she said.

I let out an angry growl and slammed my fists on the top of the cupboard, making the glass trinkets on it tingle.

"Why? I'm sixteen, for God's sake..."

"Seventeen."

I stared at her. Here I was, shouting at her, making a mess of her office and she had the gall to correct me on something as insignificant as my age?

"Sit down, Danny."

I sat. All anger left me, and suddenly I felt tired again. I felt like I was on an emotional roller coaster, and it was wearing me out. Mrs Crown sat down behind her desk and leaned forward a little. I noticed for the first time the lines on her face, as if she was tired too. A strand of hair had come loose from her meticulously put up bun.

"I'm sorry," I said.

"It's alright, Danny," she said, "At least we're getting somewhere. Now tell me about school."

All resistance had left me, and in a monotonous voice I told her all that had transpired that day, from Dash pushing me in the hallway, Mrs Kimble's behavior and my hitting Dash after he had tripped me. I left out the part where he threatened me. I didn't want to go there, didn't want to tell her why I was afraid he'd do as he said. She'd lock me up.

"How did you feel about that detention?" she asked.

I threw my hands in the air. "It was unfair," I said, "I didn't do anything. Dash attacked me."

"That's not what I heard."

"What did you hear?"

"You tripped in class, he laughed at you and you hit him."

I was silent. I hadn't actually seen him trip me. But I was sure something had hit me against my ankles. I slumped down in the comfortable chair and looked at a particularly interesting knot on the wood of her desk.

"Your aggressiveness worries me," she continued, "Your inability to handle stressful situations in a moderate way. You overreact. You seem to be in a constant 'fight or flight' mode."

I looked up at her, and then momentarily at the door. She continued.

"You're emotionally numb, you're avoiding the memory of what happened to you entirely, you have difficulty concentrating, you're experiencing outbursts of anger, you seem to feel guilty about the disappearance of your friends and your mother told me you took down your NASA posters from your room because you were no longer interested in space exploration. These are all symptoms of what we call post traumatic stress disorder, or PTSD."

I studied her face. She looked dead serious. She waited for a moment, giving me the opportunity to react, but I remained silent.

"Normally," she continued, "I would advice either exposure therapy or cognitive therapy. For either of those, however, we need to know what happened. For now, we have you behave as if you have PTSD, without the flashbacks and the nightmares that usually occur as the main symptoms."

"You mentioned medication," I said.

She gave me a sharp look. "Not to you, I didn't. Eavesdropping is dangerous, Danny, you might draw conclusions that are simply not true."

"Then stop withholding information from me," I snapped.

She sighed and rubbed her temples. I must be really tiresome.

"There are anti-depressants," she said, "They don't cure PTSD, they only lessen symptoms, like the depression, the feeling of constantly being on edge."

I shifted uneasily in my chair. I had reasons to be on edge. Ghostly reasons. Lessening that might get me killed. I shook my head.

"I don't want medication," I declared.

I had expected her to argue with me, but she didn't. Instead, she picked up her pen and wrote something down in her notebook. Then she opened a drawer and took out a brand new notebook. She handed it to me.

"I want you to write down what makes you feel stressed, or angry, or happy," she said, "Keep it with you. I told Mr Lancer you'd be doing this, so you can also do it during class, if you need to. If we don't have your actual memories to work with, we can use this to track the problem. We'll take it from there."

I clasped the notebook tightly in my hands and nodded. Then, taking her handing me the notebook as a cue that my time was up, I got up.

"See you tomorrow," she said.

I closed the door behind me. Jazz got up from a chair in the corner of the waiting room, one of those design things that look uncomfortable but are in fact not bad, and silently we left the office. As we rode the elevator, an idea popped up in my head.

"Jazz?" I asked, "Did he... I mean, did I have an external hard drive for my computer?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. Could be. You'd have hidden it, I think."

"Where?"

She thought about that for a moment. "In your room, somewhere. You guys were always holing up in your room for whatever war conference you were holding."

We got in her car and I was thinking about hiding places in my room the whole way. During the past week I had examined the room pretty thoroughly, looking for clues as to who Danny Fenton was. The only thing of interest, however, was the box with pictures. I had taken some out and pinned them to the wall where the NASA posters had been. I had taken them down, because they depressed me for some reason. Maybe because they were a reminder of a boy I no longer was.

Once at home, Jazz wanted me to start on my homework straight away, but I managed to talk her into tearing my room apart instead. We found exactly nothing. The only unusual thing we found was a crowbar in the back of my wardrobe. We did find some memory sticks, but they contained nothing of interest.

"Maybe Tucker or Sam held on to it?" I asked, letting myself fall down on my bed.

She shook her head. "I don't think so. You need it here, easily accessible." She looked frustrated. "I don't know what you guys were up to back then. I was out of the loop. I wasn't here." She slammed the desk. "It _has_ to be here."

It wasn't. There was absolutely nothing there. In the end, I gave in and sat down with her for my homework, but my attention kept wandering.


	10. Sinking

* * *

**LOST**

**Chapter 10: Sinking**

* * *

He was sitting on the bed in the cabin, eyes closed, seemingly totally relaxed. The strange music flowed around the room, sounding a little distorted. Dr Crown's voice was soothing, friendly, comforting. He smiled a little.

"Danny, I want you to think back to the day you woke up. You woke up, alone, in this cabin. You can open your eyes if you want, and look around. You're waking up and you look around. What do you see?"

Her voice sounded metallic, hollow. He opened his eyes and looked around. His eyes were strangely clouded, unfocused, seemingly looking right through Dr Crown. He looked straight at the camera, but he didn't seem to be aware of it.

"A strange place," he said, "A cabin of sorts."

His voice was quavering a bit. He sounded young, like a child. His lips trembled.

"How are you feeling, Danny?"

He was silent, but fear spread on his face. He started shaking a little and wrapped his arms around his body. He let out a soft moan.

"Scared... Who am I? How did I get here? I want to go home..."

That last part was said in a small whine, and he seemed to be about to cry.

"Take it easy, Danny, you have nothing to worry about, you are relaxed and you feel wonderful. Take a deep breath. Return to that safe place, the mind's eye, the place where you can solve all your problems. If you want to close your eyes, you can."

Dr Crown's voice sounded slightly agitated, but it worked almost immediately. He relaxed and closed his eyes. Again that vague smile tugged his lips.

"Danny, we are going to take you further back. You are not in the cabin, but you're going to be there. You don't know that yet, but you're just about to enter the cabin. Tell me where you are, Danny."

He didn't open his eyes again, but his breathing quickened. His jaw clenched, and he pulled up his knees.

"Danny?"

He didn't seem to hear her. His face contorted in fear and rage, and his breath now came in short gasps. Then he stretched his legs and pushed himself against the wall, whimpering.

"Danny, I want to to return to that safe place in your mind, that warm and friendly place... Danny?"

He started mumbling incoherently, shaking his head. His hands were moving aimlessly around, feeling the crumpled sheets he was sitting on, clawing into them, knuckles going white. He looked like he wanted to claw his way out of there in utter terror.

"Danny, listen to me, listen to my voice, come back out..."

He screamed. His mother tried to gab his arms, tried to pin him down, shouting at him. He was unusually strong though, and he flung her across the room, narrowly missing the camcorder on the tripod. Dr Crown moved out of sight, and suddenly Raskin and Jack were in there too, rushing to the thrashing boy. Then his mother was next to the detective, and together they grabbed him. He kicked and tried to bite them, but they managed to stay clear of it. Jack grabbed his legs.

Dr Crown approached, holding something.

"Hold him still," she said.

Both Raskin and his mother were panting from exertion, but they did manage to keep him immobile long enough for Dr Crown to plunge the needle into his right arm. He kept on thrashing for a moment, but then his movements became slower and less forceful. Dr Crown was standing in front of him. His eyes were open now, and he glared at her.

"Get me out of here," he growled.

"He should be out like a light..." Dr Crown said.

He started cursing and again tried to pull his arms away. Raskin leaned on him, keeping him immobile.

"Give him another one," he groaned, "He's stronger than he looks."

Dr Crown disappeared from sight and returned moments later, holding another syringe.

"Danny," she said, "Listen to me. I'm going to get you out of there. Do you want to remember where you are?"

"No!" he yelled, "Never! Get me out of here! I don't want to be here!"

She moved forward, but then hesitated.

"Can you tell me where you are?" she asked, "Tell me, and I'll get you out."

He started pulling and screaming. His feet slipped out of Jack's hold, who foolishly had thought the boy would be calm after the injection and had eased his grip on him. He lashed out and hit Raskin in the shins. Raskin responded by leaning even heavier on his chest, and he stopped thrashing, panting, gasping for air. Jack grabbed his legs again, looking desperate.

"Danny, I'm going to put you to sleep. When you wake up, you won't remember this. Relax, Danny, this will be over in a minute."

She stepped forward and put the needle in his arm, right next to the previous shot. He laid there, still panting, but this time his limbs relaxed and his head fell backwards. Raskin and his mother let go of him, and he slumped down on the bed in an awkward position, his head popped upward against the wall.

"Christ," Raskin said.

Maddie was crying, hovering over her son. She grabbed his shoulders and straightened him, letting his head rest on the bed more comfortably. Jack put a hand on her shoulders. Raskin walked to the camcorder and turned it off. The screen went snowy.

I tore my eyes from the TV that was playing the tape and looked outside. I always do that when I'm uncomfortable. It was easier to look at the boy on the video as being somebody else, instead of me. They had been right. There was nothing of use on it. I turned to Mrs Crown.

"OK," I said, "Now what. We still need to know where I was."

She nodded, walked over to the video player and ejected the tape. Carefully, she put it back in it's case and then proceeded to put it back into the cupboard in the corner of her office. I admired her meticulous handling of her environment.

"Let's do it again," I said.

She turned around in surprise.

"Danny, I don't think..."

"We have to do it again. We need to find out where I was. Sam and Tucker are there, I just know it. This time, you'll have to make me remember, no matter what I say."

She shook her head. I started to feel irritated again and suppressed it. I knew that if I got angry again she'd just say it was the PTSD acting up, and I wasn't going to give her the satisfaction. It was perfectly reasonable for me to be angry at her refusal to take a few shortcuts in order to get to Sam and Tucker. She had only my interest in mind, not theirs. She still thought the police would find them.

"Please?" I tried pleading. Hadn't tried that before.

She walked back to her desk and sat down again, all with those perfect, studied movements. She moved like she had rehearsed it, as if her slow movements were designed to calm her patients. She looked at me with those friendly, open brown eyes.

"Danny, you have to understand. You're functioning now, surprisingly well, if I might add. We could ruin all that." She gestured at the notebook laying in front of her, the one I was supposed to write my feelings of anger in, and what caused them. "Tell me about this Dash."

Before I knew it I was leaning over her desk, seething. How could she do this to me, change the subject, just like that. Dash was nothing but a nuisance, I'd written about him because I felt I needed to put in something to satisfy her. The real issue here was getting my memory back, getting to Sam. And Tucker. Him too, of course, but Sam was on my mind constantly. I needed to save her, and it killed me to know that the answer was somewhere in my head. I grabbed the notebook from her desk, turned around and stomped off.

"We're done for today," I said, just before slamming the door behind me.

I stood in the waiting room for a moment, breathing heavily, trying to calm myself.

"Great going, Fenton," I muttered, "Now she's really going to lock you up."

Without looking at the shocked secretary, I ran out of the office. Behind me, I heard Mrs Crown call out to me, but I ignored her. I ignored the elevator too, and instead took the stairs down. The trampling of my feet on the metal staircase echoed through the building, and then I was downstairs, bursting out of the main entrance. The sun was shining, it was a hot day, and I was standing on the sidewalk in front of the building, alone. No one to pick me up yet. I had hardly used half the time that was allotted to me. Traffic went past me, and I wondered what to do. I looked up and down the street, and decided to walk.

I walked for a while, all the way to the park. In the distance, I could see Casper High, it's gray, blocky structure rising above the trees. The park was crowded, with lots of children playing in the playground, their parents seated on the benches in the shade, talking to each other while keeping a watchful eye on their offspring. Teenagers hanging around the fountain. I recognized a few of them, so I decided to take the long way around, just in case Dash was with them. Avoiding him had been my main objective during the day, and I had done just fine except for the time we had class together. If looks could kill, we'd both be dead.

I went up the hill and sat down on top, resting my back against a tree and putting my arms around my knees.

"I need a drink," I thought. My eyes scanned the park, the people, the road just outside it's wall, and stopped on an ice cream vendor. "Or ice cream."

I got up and noticed that my t-shirt was clammy. I was tempted to take it off, and if I had been alone in the park I would have, but too many people would be staring. It stayed on. Slowly, I walked down the hill and to the ice cream vendor, which had a long line of children waiting for their turn. I got in line and patiently waited for mine.

Licking my ice cream cone, I sauntered into the direction of the school. It occurred to me that I needed to call my mother, to tell her not to pick me up at Dr Crown's, so with one hand I started digging into one of the pockets of my cargo pants to retrieve my cell phone. Just as I got it out, I got shoved in the back. Both my phone and the ice cream cone went flying. I turned around.

There were four of them. Football players. Dash, Kwan, a dark haired guy named Rick and another blond guy whose name I forgot. They were grinning at me, and I looked around. Great. They must have been following me, and I never noticed them, busy as I was with my ice cream and searching for my phone. I glanced at it. It was on the ground, in two pieces. The battery had fallen off.

"Gee, Dash, you're really clumsy, you know that? Nobody around and you still manage to bump into me."

Dumb move. I could have easily gotten away at that point, as they didn't have me surrounded yet, but I didn't want to leave my phone there. I needed it. And I wasn't about to let them have it. But I could have been a little more diplomatic.

Keeping an eye on the four totally self confident jocks, I scanned my environment. They'd picked a good place. Just behind the wall of the park, the school's windows facing away, the security camera pointing in the other direction. Nobody around. No traffic, as this road had a dead end, leading up to the bleachers of the football field. Caterers used this road when there was a game or a concert. And football players, wanting to beat up stupid, unsuspecting teens who thought this was a good shortcut. Just great.

I turned my attention back at them. They had been waiting patiently for me to come to the realization that I was alone, and nobody would come out to help me. Luckily, I didn't need any help.

I moved to pick up my phone, and immediately Rick and the blond jock circled around me, blocking my exit. Ignoring them, I bend down, picked up the pieces and examined them. Then, I carefully snapped the battery back on. I'd try it later, but it looked OK. I had dropped it before, the battery always came off. Dash pushed me.

"Hey, Fenturd, I'm over here. Pay attention."

I looked up, annoyed. Didn't he see I was busy checking on my phone? I put it in my pocket again, making a mental note not to let them hit me there, as I was pretty sure it would A, hurt, and B, kill my phone.

"Look, Dash, just lay off," I said, "Walk away, and I'll forget this ever happened."

He laughed, and I felt the anger return. Not at him, but at myself. How could I be so stupid, letting him catch me. I had avoided him the whole day. I should have payed attention when coming close to the school. They'd probably had football practice, and now they were going to use me for boxing practice. With me as the punching bag. Or so they thought.

He was quick, though. I had to give him that.

In the blink of an eye, he was on top of me, landing a punch in my stomach. I groaned and staggered backwards, until the wall stopped my retreat. He pulled his arm back for another punch, but this time, I moved. He howled in pain as his fist hit the wall, and if my stomach hadn't hurt so much, I would have knocked him out right there. It was the perfect opportunity. His neck was exposed. One blow, and I could probably break it. Instead, I just shoved him out of the way with my shoulder.

I caught a movement out of the corner of my left eye and turned, raising my fists. Rick came at me, bend over as if he was going to tackle me by grabbing me around the waist. He was a football player after all. Predictable. The only thing I needed to do is twist a little, bring my arm down to redirect him and bring up my knee. I hit him square in the face, and he went down in a fountain of blood spurting from his nose.

On the move now, I swirled in a round hose kick, a low one, hitting the blond jock in the right knee. He went down.

"Nooo!" he screamed, "I gotta play tomorrow!"

He should have thought of that before he decided to mess with me. Without looking I reached behind me, two fingers pointing upward, aiming for Dash's eyes as he came at me. He managed to partially evade me, so I only hit his left eye. I still counted it as a hit, and I was grinning. Three down, one to go. I turned around to face Kwan, who was just standing there, his mouth agape. On the ground, the blond jock was whimpering, Rick was sitting up, a dazed expression on his face and holding his nose. Dash was now leaning against the wall, holding his hands over his eye.

"Move," I growled.

Dash glared at me with his one good eye. I'm not sure what he was planning, but I would have been ready for it. Instead, the five of us turned around as we heard a slow clapping coming from a man leaning against the wall. A man in a black suit, his long silvery hair in a neat pony tail in the nape of his neck, a mocking expression on his face. I was the first to recover.

"Vlad," I said, "Where did you come from?"

He smiled, pushed himself from the wall and walked towards us. At the end of the road, I could see a black limousine, parked along the curb.

"Nice work, Daniel," he said, surveying the jocks and their various injuries, "Very efficient. You enjoyed it, didn't you."

"Of course not," I said.

He tsked and shook his head. Then he held out his arm and beckoned me to come closer.

"Come," he said, "I'll take you home. Maddie is worried."

I took an involuntary step back, caught myself, and then stepped forward, following the billionaire to his car. I didn't look back. The stupid jocks could take care of themselves for all I cared. Vlad held open the door and I stepped into the air conditioned space. It was almost cold in there, and I shivered in my wet t-shirt.

Vlad followed me in and quickly shut the door behind him, as not to let the heat in. I sat down on one of the leather seats and wiped the sweat of my brow with the back of my hand. Vlad sat down across from me, and the car started moving. I looked outside through the tinted windows, and watched the park pass by.

"We're going in the wrong direction," I said.

"Only for a moment, Daniel, I'll deliver you to your parents later. Be quiet, I need to call your mother to tell her that you're alright."

He took out his phone and hit a button. He had her on speed dial?

"Maddie, Vlad here. I have him with me... No, he's alright. Just a little hot. I'll bring him home after I have a little talk with him... No, he needs to understand he can't run off like that and worry you... No, I think I can get through to him. Ta!"

I glared at him. Who was he to have 'a little talk' with me? He looked back at me evenly and then reached for his briefcase. I watched as he took out what looked like a DVD case.

"I had an interesting talk with one of your so called friends," he said.

He pressed a button on the armrest and a panel slid open, revealing a monitor and a small, portable DVD player. He opened the case, took out the DVD, which was obviously a copy, and put it in. Then he took out a remote and clicked the play button.

"Watch closely," he said.

My mouth went dry. I sat perfectly still, staring at the screen. The outside world passed me by, but I didn't notice any of it. On the screen, was the interior of a liquor store. Two figures entered, one with his cap pulled down, and looking down at the ground. You couldn't see his face. The other looked around nervously, and then up at the camera. Then, he too pulled his cap down. I watched the robbery go down with a sinking feeling in my stomach. Vlad pressed the pause button just as the two figures left, carrying the beer and the money.

"I'm very disappointed in you, Daniel," Vlad said.

I didn't look at him. I felt trapped, like the ceiling of the car came crushing down on me. Suddenly, the space in the back of the limo seemed very cramped to me.

"Stop the car," I whispered.

My throat constricted, and I was fighting off the waves of nausea that flushed over me. I gripped the armrests of my seat so tightly that I'm sure I left some permanent indents in them. Vlad looked at me in alarm and quickly bend over to bang on the glass window that separated us from the driver.

The car slowed down, and I jumped out before it came to a complete stop, violently vomiting in the bushes beside the road. Luckily, we were in a quiet neighborhood, so nobody crashed into us from the sudden stop. I coughed and spluttered, all to aware of Vlad's eyes on me, sitting in the door opening, watching me being sick.

I leaned against a tree with one hand, bend over, holding my stomach with the other. I waited, eyes closed, for the dizzying feeling to stop. Gradually, I calmed down and straightened. I looked away from the car and it's rich owner, into the bushes and the houses in the distance. I didn't know where we were. It had to be somewhere in the outskirts of Amity Park.

This was it. I was going down. Nothing could stop that now. I turned around.

"Well, now," Vlad said, smirking, "I gather that was a bit of a shock to you."

I took a deep breath. I was still leaning against the tree. I didn't trust myself not to topple over just yet.

"So. We're on our way to the police station then," I said.

He looked at me in surprise.

"My dear boy," he said, "Whatever gave you that idea. Of course not. That would only get you locked up."

I stared at him. Didn't he get this from detective Raskin? He saw the stunned look on my face and laughed.

"This," he said, "Will be our little secret, don't you think?"

An ink black feeling came over me, flooding my arms, my legs, my heart. He held my life in his hands. One word from him, that was all it would take.

"John," I said.

Vlad nodded. "John Undike, age eighteen, state prison, facing charges of breaking into a gas station shop. He'll get off lightly, I think, probably only a suspended sentence, thanks to my lawyers. He became very talkative when I asked him about you. He really hates you, you know."

I swallowed. "What do you want from me," I said hoarsely.

Vlad's smile broadened.

"I knew you'd understand, my dear boy. You were always smarter than everybody gave you credit for. Not smart enough, of course, but smart nonetheless. With the right training... But I'm getting ahead of myself. You're to return to your parents, for now. You will no longer upset Maddie. Ever. You will submit to your counselor, Mrs Crown, and follow the treatment she proposes. You will attend school and keep a firm lid on that famous temper of yours."

I felt the anger rise in me. I let go of the tree, clenched my fists and took a few steps, bringing me closer to the car and it's obnoxious owner. He raised his eyebrows.

"Furthermore," he said, continuing as if I wasn't standing there, ready to punch him, "You will absolutely stay away from alcohol. I heard of your little display of poor judgment last week. PTSD and alcohol do not go together."

"How," I managed to ground out, "How did you know?"

"I have my sources," he said smugly.

Had my mother told him... my father. Of course. Worried Jack, talking to a trusted family friend. Feeling totally trashed, I lowered my fists. It was pointless anyway. I had a feeling I wouldn't be able to hit him if I tried.

"Get in the car, Daniel."

Wordlessly, I complied. I let him guide me back into the cool compartment, and I sat down in the same chair I had been in earlier. I was thirsty, but Vlad didn't offer my anything, although I was pretty sure the limo was well stocked. Maybe he didn't have anything without alcohol. I looked outside. The world seemed unreal to me. I could really use a drink now.

"I have to find Sam and Tucker," I said.

I hated the way my voice sounded. Defeated. Like I had given in. Vlad heard it too, and he crossed his legs and folded his hands in such a superior pose that I felt my blood boil again.

"Do you really think they're still alive?" he asked, "If they are, you abandoned them. Think about that, Daniel."

They couldn't be dead. I refused to believe that. And then a thought struck me. If they were alive, I must have gone for help. Only I never got back. I _did_ abandon them. If they were dead... I recognized that my denial of that possibility might have something to do with my memory loss. What if they were dead, and my mind couldn't cope with that, and subsequently blocked all memory of it?

Vlad was watching me, probably trying to gauge my state of mind from the expression on my face. I turned away from him and purposefully kept looking outside until we reached Fenton Works. Before the car had stopped, the door opened and my parents rushed out.

"Danny!" my mother yelled, "Where have you been!"

Vlad got out before me and grabbed her arms.

"Steady now, Maddie, the boy's alright. A bit worse for wear, maybe, but just fine."

Slowly, I got out. I didn't look at her, but kept my gaze on the ground, finding a particular interest in a pebble on the sidewalk. I looked up when my mother touched my arm.

"Mrs Crown called," she said, "You ran out... we were worried... we thought..."

They thought I was suicidal. I felt both angry and guilty about that. How could they think I would off myself just like that? I admitted I had problems, but not everybody with problems killed themselves, right? _Blood flowing freely from my arm, making me feel lightheaded..._

I jerked my arm away and walked into the house. I felt like hanging a sign around my neck, saying 'Do not touch'. What was it with people, always touching, hugging, kissing. I just wanted to curl up on my bed in my room and shut the world out. And they had taken the one thing that would help me with that away from me.

I heard voices behind me, calling out to me, but I ignored them. I rushed upstairs, slammed the door to my room and locked it. If they wanted to come in, they'd have to break it down.

The room was the same as I had left it in the morning. Sweatpants thrown haphazardly in the corner. Bed unmade. Curtains only half opened. Desk littered with last night's soda cans. I sat down on the ground, pushing myself into the space between the wardrobe and the wall. It wasn't cramped in there, but three walls around me made me feel slightly safer.

Somebody knocked on my door.

"Danny? Sweetie? Can I come in?"

"Leave me alone," I said.

I didn't mean for it to come out so harshly and I flinched.

"I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"You're my son. I love you. You have to let me help you, please."

She sounded both scared and composed. Only then it occurred to me that what I was doing was hurting them, hurting my parents and my sister. Maybe it would have been better if I had stayed away, stayed missing, stayed dead. I got up and unlocked the door. My mother entered and surveyed the room, obviously noting the mess in there, but not saying anything about it.

"I'm sorry," I said.

I wasn't sure what I was sorry about, but I figured it was a way to appease her. She lifted her hand to touch me, but before I could flinch, she dropped it again. She didn't know what to do, how to approach me. We seemed to be a touchy family, and by distancing myself from that I disrupted her world.

"Danny..." she said.

"I'm not killing myself, alright?" I said, quickly pushing away the thought that me being dead would solve all their problems.

She shook her head.

"I didn't really think you would, honey, but you scared us. Mrs Crown says..."

"Oh, stuff her."

Irritably, I sat down on the crumbled sheets of my bed. My mother stared at my pants and I looked down. Dark spots on my knee. Rick's blood.

"That's not mine," I said.

"I know. Vlad told me..."

"Stuff him too. I don't wanna talk about it."

I let myself drop backwards on the bed and put my hands behind my head, letting my feet dangle. She sat down beside me, careful not to touch me.

"I know, sweetie. You don't have to. Just... just don't shut us out, OK? Don't think we won't be there to help you. You're hurting, and it kills me to see you this way, but don't ever think that I or any of us would rather see you gone, alright?"

How did she know? I looked up at her in surprise, and she smiled at me encouragingly. And suddenly I realized that she _was_ my mother. She wasn't before. She was now. Some of the darkness lifted and I pushed back the tears that suddenly seemed to be wanting to escape my eyes. I sat up.

"I... I have homework," I mumbled.

She stood up and nodded.

"I'll call you when dinner's ready," she said.

She left the room and my dark mood returned. No matter what she said, what anybody said, fact remained that I had abandoned my friends. Vlad could be right, they could be dead. That didn't mean I shouldn't try to find them.


	11. Breathe Again

A/N: I debated myself if I should split this up but I decided not to. So now you're getting a really long chapter. As for the title, I used one of the titles in my one shot collection. It's sort of appropriate.

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**LOST**

**Chapter 11: Breathe Again**

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I'm sure I must have come to this conclusion before, but I really, really, hated school. Between the boring classes, the suspicious looks I got from the teachers, Dash's threats and my inability to concentrate on anything other than what was happening outside the school or the doodles in my notebook, I thought my life totally sucked. It didn't help that I only had one class together with Valerie, who still was my only friend. And she, too, didn't seem to know what to say to me. I sat with her and Star during lunch hour, but I could tell Star didn't appreciate me being there. I'm sure I decreased her social status by ten points just by being near to her.

So I excused myself early, saying I needed to do some work and left the cafeteria. I walked outside into the picnic area and crossed the lawn to sit in the shade of the huge, lonely tree that was standing there. After making sure I was alone and nobody was paying attention, I commenced with what I had been doing for the past three days: getting my ghost powers to work.

Somehow, that what once was so easy for me months ago, had become very hard. Jazz told me that I told her I had the hardest time controlling even the simplest things like invisibility and intangibility in the beginning, right after the accident. I would go invisible at the most inconvenient moments, or sink through the floor when I wasn't paying attention. It should have been easy. It wasn't.

Jazz, being the smart one, figured that over the years, I had built safety guards against using my powers involuntarily in my head, blockades that prevented me from using my powers unless I consciously reached for them. I must have been pretty good at that, because those blockades did what they were supposed to do. They kept me out. I could sometimes circumvent them, but afterwards I never knew what exactly it was that I had been doing. And turning into Danny Phantom... that was totally out of the question. I had no clue, and neither did Jazz. I could feel the energy inside me, twisting and churning, but it was locked away and I couldn't reach it.

I looked at my hands and focused. Invisible, I thought. Nothing happened. And yet, I had managed to do it on Saturday, right after the fight with the ghost called Skulker. I sighed and looked around the school grounds. Students were sitting at the tables in the picnic area, others were laying down somewhere on the grass, a book on their heads as if they were trying to study by osmosis.

I opened my backpack and got out a book. I didn't open it, I just held it. I felt it's smooth structure in my hands, the weight of it, the slight tugging at the muscles in my shoulders as I held it in front of me. I looked at my hands again. I fell out of the damn closet, through the door. Surely I could phase through this book...

I didn't want to think about the closet, but I did anyway. I had been turning away from unwelcome thoughts too much lately, maybe it was time to face my fears. The tight space. The feeling of terror at being unable to move. The pressure on my chest, the lack of air.

The book fell through my hands.

"Great," I muttered, staring at the book on the grass, "How did I do that."

I picked it up and tried again. Not push. Let go. The book fell through my hands. I grinned. I finally had accomplished something. Then the shade of the tree I was sitting suddenly became larger. With a feeling of dread, I looked up, just in time to see a large fist very close to my head. I went down without so much as a squeak.

It was dark and cold, and the concrete floor scraped painfully against my body as I tried to curl into a ball, tried to provide as small a target as I could muster. They were hitting me, but I didn't really see them. I didn't need to see their menacing red eyes, the hatred in them, the malice directed at me hitting me equally hard as their boots and fists. I clenched my teeth in a desperate attempt to stay silent, accepting my punishment, knowing that I had brought this upon myself, that I was to blame.

I was a disappointment. I could feel that, the feeling coming from the white figure standing in the corner, watching quietly. Somebody was screaming, loud, incoherent words trying to filter through my foggy brain, but I had no idea what she was trying to do, who she was screaming at. I whimpered.

"You're a freak, Fenton."

Footsteps, moving away from me, making the ground shudder a little. Silence. Grass, tickling my nose. A slight breeze, touching my skin. My hands on my head, clawing my hair. Eyes closed tightly, trying to shut out the world. I couldn't move. My breathing came in short gasps, and I felt myself shuddering.

Time passed. The shuddering lessened. The grass was really tickling my nose. I sneezed.

In one movement, I was up, scrambling backwards until my back hit the tree. Eyes wide open now, I looked around frantically, trying to make sense of my environment. The school. The deserted picnic area. No students laying on the grass with a book on their head.

"C-c-crap," I said.

Tentatively, I brought my hand up to my face, feeling the tender area on my right cheekbone. A bruise, probably. With some difficulty, I brought my breathing under control. Then I pushed myself up and looked around for my backpack. I found it in the bushes behind the tree, minus the books that should have been in there. I spent some ten minutes walking around, gathering them, and then I headed inside.

Since there was no need to hurry anymore, I went into the restroom first to check out my face. I looked alright, except for the distinct red spot on my cheekbone. It'd probably turn blue later on. What worried me were my eyes. Not the usual cold, empty stare, but a terrified, haunted look that would convince no one that I had bumped into a door.

I splashed some water into my face and looked again. A little better. It would have to do.

I traversed the empty hallways and entered the classroom of Mr Faluca for my fifth period math. He frowned at me and made some quick movement with his hands to tell me to hurry up and sit down. He finished his elaborate sentence and, without taking a breath, added, "Detention, Fenton."

I didn't even flinch. I sunk down in my chair, put my hands in my pockets to demonstrate I didn't care and stared outside. This was all a big mistake. I shouldn't be here. School was hell. And if what I experienced was a flashback, I didn't want any more. Mrs Crown was right, we should skip the whole hypnosis thing.

We would never find Sam and Tucker.

With that dark thought, I sat through the remainder of my classes. I called Mrs Crown to tell her I'd be late, and she got me out of the detention by calling Mr Lancer and saying her treatment was essential for my wellbeing. Mr Lancer was kind enough to reschedule my detention to lunch the next day. Joy.

During Geography, the last period of the day, my ghost sense went off again. It had been happening the whole week, and most of the times I had managed to cover it up by coughing, holding my hand in front of my mouth. Once, after I had sensed the ghost, the ghost alarm had gone off, and I had dutifully evacuated with the rest of the school, standing outside while my parents searched the school, finding nothing ghostly but managing to destroy a few lockers. The owners of those lockers, of course, blamed me.

This time, however, instead of covering it up and keeping my head down, I raised my hand and asked to be excused. Mrs Jones frowned but waved her hand. The class ignored me, which suited me just fine.

The hallway was empty, and I was just standing there, fingering my hall pass, trying to figure out which way to go, when I saw... it. A bluish apparition appeared briefly at the end of the hallway and then disappeared into what I thought had to be the storage room. I hesitated, rubbing my arms to rid myself of the goosebumps that had appeared there.

According to Jazz, I had hunted ghosts. I had been good at it. This ghost didn't look too menacing. And Geography was boring. Knowing I was making excuses for myself, but not minding a bit, I advanced on the door to the storage room.

The blue mist was now coming in a steady streak out of my mouth, and I tried to peer through small wired glass window, which was of course impossible. Then I remembered intangibility and tried to concentrate on making my head intangible. I think I actually managed for a moment, but before I could put my head through the door – what a weird sight that must have been for somebody watching, if there had been anybody – I turned tangible again and the only thing I managed to do was bump my head against the door.

"Ow," I said, feeling foolish.

Instead of trying any more ghost tricks, I reached out and grabbed the door handle. Slowly I opened the door and slid inside the sparsely lit, dusty room. The only light came from a small window on the other side and a faint glow coming from the left

The room was filled with racks, narrow pathways in between them. They were filled with... things. Stacks of books. A huge box filled with erasers. Computer monitors from the middle ages. I wiped the dust of some boxes and looked what was on it. Preserved animal dissection kits. I shuddered at that and for some reason Sam's scowling face popped up in my mind. I pushed her away. There was something in this room that needed my full attention.

I heard him before I saw him. He was happily muttering to himself, and I heard him spell out the writing on the boxes stacked in the far corner of the room. I stepped closer and peered around the rack.

A burly blue ghost was floating there, examining a box about the size of a shoe box. He looked like some sort of janitor. I froze. Now that I got here, I didn't know what to do. I started wondering why I had come here in the first place. It wasn't like I had control over my ghost powers, and even if I did, I couldn't capture him, as I wasn't carrying a thermos.

Just when I decided I should make my way out of there, the ghost looked up. I froze. So did he. We stared at each other for what seemed like a very long time, but in fact couldn't have been more than fifteen seconds, and then he moved.

I moved too. I jumped back, hitting my back painfully against the rack behind me and causing some boxes to crash to the floor. They made a sound of breaking glass, and I winced.

"Nooo!" the ghost bellowed, seeing the boxes on the ground, all dented and crooked, "You hurt them! All those precious boxes!"

His face now contorted in rage, he heaved his hands into the air and the boxes rose with him. I straightened. I remembered Skulker. I narrowed my eyes and felt the anger rise in me. I welcomed it. I had felt the distinct need to hit something or somebody the whole day, and this box obsessed ghost would do nicely. Instead of backing away, I stepped forward and glared at him. To my surprise, he actually backed away, fear in his eyes.

"Beware!" he shouted.

The boxes crashed to the floor, and he fled. I blinked in surprise. I had chased away a ghost. Without doing anything. I grinned. Must be my reputation.

I moved to the boxes on the floor and briefly examined them. They contained old history books. Or old-history books. I coughed a little from all the dust flying around and then placed them back on the shelves, next to a few shining microscopes which showed signs of recent use: no dust. Then I left the room, closing the door quietly behind me.

"Daniel Fenton."

I froze and closed my eyes. Then, taking a deep breath, I turned around, finding myself face to face with Mrs Kimble.

"Um, hi," I said.

She looked at me suspiciously. I resisted the urge to start rubbing the back of my neck.

"What were you doing in there?" she asked, and her tone of voice suggested that it was probably nothing good. I felt the anger rise in me and suppressed it mercilessly.

"I... I saw a ghost," I said lamely.

Her mouth was curved down in a disapproving look, and she was frowning. She looked pointedly at the siren attached to the ceiling and I followed her gaze.

She turned back to me. "A ghost, you say. Then why didn't the ghost alarm go off?"

I opened my mouth and closed it again. I didn't know. I did know, however, that my own ghost sense was much more sensitive than the ghost sensors they had in the school. Maybe the ghost had been too weak for it.

"What _were_ you doing in that room, Daniel?" she proceeded, "Snooping around? I've seen you sitting in my class, not taking notes, not paying attention at all. You thought you had better things to do, maybe? Checking out what we have in store there? Maybe sell some of it? We wouldn't miss it for a while, until we needed it again."

The anger came quickly and I clenched my fists. I shouldn't hit a teacher.

"There's only junk in there," I seethed, "There's nothing worth stealing. I. Saw. A. Ghost."

She grabbed my arm and I jerked it back, glaring at her. She stepped back.

"We.. we'd better go see Mrs Inshiyama," she said, suddenly nervous.

"I didn't do anything!" I was almost shouting now.

A classroom door opened and a teacher looked out. When he saw Mrs Kimble he shot her an irritated look and went back in again.

I tried to control my anger. My fists were clenched, my arms were shaking and I felt my nails digging into my hands. It had to go somewhere. I turned and punched a locker, denting it. Pain shot through my arm. I wanted to scream, but managed to keep it inside. Instead, I leaned my head against the cool locker and tried to calm down.

"Mr Fenton?"

I looked up. Mr Lancer was standing next to Mrs Kindle, holding a pile of books. The biology teacher's face now bore a self-satisfied look.

"I saw him coming out of the storage room," she said, "He has no business there, and we all know..."

"Thank you, Mrs Kimble," Mr Lancer said, not taking his eyes off me, "I'll take it from here."

She pressed her lips together, looked at me one more time and walked away. I leaned against the lockers, feeling the anger leave me until I felt empty again.

"Mr Fenton." I looked up. "Please come with me to my office."

Sullenly, I followed the overweight teacher and let myself drop into a chair in his office. My fist hurt. I examined it, but there was no blood. Just my knuckles being red. Nothing seemed to be broken, luckily. That would really have been stupid. And pointless. _A freight train, thundering at me at eighty miles an hour, a mindless machine, unable to stop..._

I jerked up. "I'm sorry," I said.

Mr Lancer sighed. "You have quite a reputation," he said carefully.

I felt myself get angry again. He saw it too, for he raised his hands as if to placate me.

"I don't believe a word of it," he said, "But these rumors are hard to stop. Please be careful, Daniel."

I sat out the remainder of the hour in Mr Lancer's office, staring at the wall. When he dismissed me, I went back to Mrs Jones's classroom to get my books. She didn't look at me and I ignored her. I left quietly and hurried out of the school, glad to be out in the open again. I looked back at the school and wondered how I was going to survive the rest of the year.

My mother picked me up in the GAV, which vehicle no longer surprised me. It seems you can get used to anything. She chatted lightly, every now and then glancing in my direction to see if I was listening, and I dutifully answered when prompted. I didn't tell her about the incident in the storage room. She would find out soon enough from Mr Lancer, but I didn't want to talk about it. Yes, school was fine. Yes, I had homework to do when I got home. No, I did not want to come down into the lab to help her with one of her inventions.

She looked slightly disappointed at that, but seemed unsurprised. A small smile tugged her lips, and I wondered if I somehow had behaved in the way she thought I should behave, being Danny Fenton. And that thought sent me on another dark trip through my brain, trying to figure out who I was. She was silent the rest of the way. All too soon, we reached Mrs Crown's office.

When I got out, she spoke again.

"Danny... Vlad offered to pick you up. I said yes, because I have some work to do this afternoon... I hope that's alright?"

I stood still for a moment. The crazed fruit loop was picking me up? A feeling of dread came over me. There was nothing I could do about it, though. He had me in his power. I nodded, closed the door and went inside.

Mrs Crown was her usual, friendly, calm self, and after I apologized for running off the previous day, we commenced our daily talk about what angered me or scared me. I sullenly answered her questions, but didn't volunteer any information and certainly didn't speak about the terrifying flashback I'd had, or the perfectly justified rage at Mrs Kimble for implying that I was a thief. I supposed I should have, but I just didn't want to think about it. Cowardly much? You bet.

She did notice my lack of corporation of course, but uncharacteristically said nothing about it. I wondered about that for a moment, but didn't question it. I probably wouldn't like the answer, namely that she was afraid of me.

Vlad did pick me up in his limousine, and I got in quietly, sitting down in the same seat as the day before. We both remained silent, and although I noticed we weren't going home, I didn't say anything about it. Instead, we drove to the outskirts of Amity Park, an expensive neighborhood with large mansions with long driveways for houses. We stopped at a particularly large one, and the driver got out to open the door for us. I followed Vlad into his house.

"He's your archenemy," Jazz had said that day when she had shown my her scrapbook, "You two are always at each other's throat. He's an old college friend of our parents, and he has a thing for mom. Basically, he wants to kill dad, marry mom and have you as his perfect half ghost son. I'm not really sure where I fit in."

I looked around the huge hallway with the grand staircase, slightly awed by the size of the house. There were carpets on the floor, paintings on the wall and expensive looking vases on small side tables next to the staircase. Vlad waited in the doorway at the far end, looking at me impatiently. I quickly followed him inside.

It turned out to be a staircase, going down. We descended, and came to a huge cellar turned laboratory, much like the one my parents had, only bigger. I gawked at the huge computer screen on one of the walls, the numerous machines, the strange, hibernation chamber like cylinders – at one point I must have watched too much Star Trek – and countless vials with glowing, goo-like liquids on the shelves.

"Daniel," Vlad said, and I heard the impatience in his voice, "Please follow me."

He led me to one of the cylinders and opened it by pressing a button. With a hiss, the front slid open, revealing the cramped space within. On each side there were manacles attached. I took a step back.

"Get in," Vlad said.

I shook my head slowly. No way. Vlad's eyes flashed a menacing red.

"In," he said, "Or I'll alert detective Raskin to your little escapade in the liquor store. Be assured I'll withdraw my lawyers in the process."

I swallowed and stared at the cramped space inside the cylinder.

"What's it do?" I asked.

"We're going to jump-start your ghost form," Vlad said, "It won't hurt... much."

I stood very still. Vlad was trying to get me into a potentially hellish machine. I shouldn't even be considering it. There should be absolutely no way I would do this willingly. Jazz would kill me. I stepped forward, into the cylinder and turned around to face Vlad. He smiled his evil smile and snapped the manacles around my wrists. Then, he pressed the button and the cylinder closed. I was trapped.

"Don't resist, Daniel," he said, his voice muffled by the glass.

He walked away to one of the consoles and looked at a screen for a moment. Then, without warning, he pressed a button.

My arms started tingling, first a little, then a lot. My breath caught in my throat as I felt my chest tighten. Somewhere around my midsection, a cold feeling sliced through me and I shuddered. It spread, touching my legs, my lungs, and suddenly I felt a burning sensation, as if I was drowning in ice cold water. I tried to breathe, and found that I couldn't.

This was wrong.

I was dying.

The tingling became painful as I desperately tried to stay warm, stay alive, stay me. Tears fell down my face, ice cold droplets, freezing my cheek. I let out a wordless scream as my eyes were blinded by a bright white light, encircling me. I shifted, my whole being becoming something else, and during that shift, I felt a painful sting in my left side. I opened my eyes for a moment, and to my horror saw that I had been stabbed by a long, thin, needle like object coming from the side of the cylinder.

I cried out in pain as the thing dug deeper inside of me, and then it pulled back, leaving a tiny, green puncture hole.

The tingling stopped. I looked around, trying to see through the fogged over glass of the cylinder. Then, the door slid open and Vlad stood there, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

"Well, now," he said, "That worked even better than I had hoped. And I gained a mid-morph DNA sample as well. Thank you, Daniel, you've been very cooperative."

He bend forward and undid the manacles holding me inside. I stumbled forward and floated... floated?

I squeaked, and tumbled forward, doing a forward flip in the air. Instead of falling down, I just hung there, upside down. Weightless. I tried to take a deep breath, and felt the air filling my lungs. But somehow, it didn't feel like I was breathing. It felt more like filling a plastic bag with air. It didn't do anything.

"V-Vlad," I said, "How do I work this?"

He had walked away from me, but now looked up at my floating, upside down form.

"Oh, butterbiscuits ," he said.

And then he too changed. Black rings appeared around his waist, and slowly he transformed into a red-caped, vampire like being with black hair standing up and fangs for teeth. He flew up, grabbed me and turned me around.

"There," he said, "Now familiarize yourself with it. Next, we'll try turning you human again."

If it was anything like turning into a ghost, I didn't want to do it. On the other hand, I didn't want to stay a ghost either. Tentatively, I made myself float up until I reached the ceiling. Then, I went back down. Flying, it appeared, required some form of mental control. Think 'forward', and you go forward. Something like that. It took me a while to get the hang of it. I maneuvered myself to the other side of the lab where I had seen a mirror and looked at myself.

White hair. Green eyes. Black hazmat suit with a logo on it, depicting a slanted D with a P inside. Danny Phantom. Himself. Incredible. I flew away with a little bit more ease and landed next to Vlad, who had been busy examining some green goo in a vial.

It was weird. Standing on the ground, it wasn't so much like really standing, letting gravity do it's work, it was more like floating with my feet against the ground. I appeared to be standing. In reality, I didn't. I felt a slight stab in my left side and looked down. Green blood was oozing out of the hole made by the needle.

"Ah," he said, "Not bad. Now turn human, so we can try again."

I reached inside of me and searched for that warm spot I instinctively knew should be there. I grabbed it and embraced it, imagining myself to be warm and breathing. Two white rings appeared around my waist, and a prickling sensation went through me, not entirely unpleasant. When they reached my lungs, I immediately felt the oxygen deprivation and started to choke. Moments later, it was over and I was back to being Danny Fenton. I breathed deeply and it felt wonderful.

Vlad eyed me critically. I looked down, and saw the red sneakers and the black cargo pants, the white t-shirt, with the red oval on it, and another, quickly spreading red spot on my left side. I gasped and put my hand over it to stop the bleeding.

"Now turn ghost," Vlad said.

I reached inside of me and tried to reverse the process I had just gone through, a little fearful of the process. Turning human was great. Going ghost... terrifying. That coldness washing over me, the sudden absence of a heartbeat, the strange weightlessness... the power. I couldn't do it. Before I knew it, Vlad had picked me up and slammed me back into the cylinder, once more fastening the manacles around my wrists.

"Don't resist this time," he said, "Pay attention to what's happening."

I did resist. Too surprised by Vlad's unsuspected move, I tried to push back the tingling feeling of the manacles, spreading through my arms, trying to take over my body. The rings appeared, that dreadful feeling of turning my body into ectoplasm tried to take over, and I pushed it back, screaming.

And then it stopped and I sagged down on my knees, panting. The front of the cylinder slide open and I looked up, right into Vlad's angry face. His hand shot forward, grabbed me by the neck and pulled me up. He pushed me against the back of the cylinder.

"Don't. Resist."

I was choking, clawing at his hands aimlessly, but he was way stronger than I was. I tried to focus my intangibility, but like before, I couldn't reach it. I let out a strangled cry and tried to kick him, but he had no problems with going intangible. Then, he let go of me and I fell against the side of the cylinder, gasping for air, held in place by the manacles.

He stepped back, closed the chamber again and without preamble pushed the button again. I watched him do it through watering eyes, and this time I didn't resist at all.

The prickling feeling in my arms spread, affecting me on a level I'd never been affected before, a molecular change that flipped my DNA, made the ghost side of it dominant. I followed it's course with my mind, feeling the coldness spread, stopping my heart, my blood, my breathing. I was a ghost.

The door opened, Vlad released me and I hovered again.

"Very good," he said, "See what happens when you stop resisting me?"

I suddenly felt a burning rage at the man. How dare he put me in there, torture me, kill me. Twice. With a low growl, I flung myself at him, fists poised to hit him in the stomach.

I never even reached him. Right in front of me, a square, pink shield appeared, and I crashed into it. Dazed, I floated backwards. He dropped the shield and crossed his arms, smirking.

"We'll have to work on your manners," he said, "I think the proper phrase here is, 'Thank you, Vlad'."

"Thank you?" I choked, "For killing me?"

"Oh, stop this childish behavior. You're not dead. No more so than you were before. And now that we have this out of the way, we can start on your training. I think..." He glanced at his watch and frowned. "You'll have to go home now, or your parents will wonder where you are. Go do your homework, let Jasmine help you. I expect good grades from you from now on. If not..."

If not, he'd hand me over to the police and sever all ties with me. I saw no way out of this. I'd have to go along. For now. Deciding that I'd had enough of his company, I shot up, through the ceiling – it was so much easier using intangibility in my ghost form – and out of the house. High above the house, the woods, the road I stopped, looked around to get my bearings and then shot off in the direction of Amity Park's town center. I'd have to go all the way across to the other side, where Fenton Works was.

Flying was nice.

The wind blew through my hair and I watched the traffic below, the people on the streets, earthbound, unable to see what I saw. All of it. High buildings, factories, run down neighborhoods, quiet suburbs, the park, the school. I made myself go faster and the world turned into a blur. I felt the power of it surge through me, and at that moment, I was convinced I could do anything.

Naturally, I missed Fenton Works by several miles.

I had to turn back and track my street from the air, which would have been hard to do if it hadn't been for the huge spaceship-like contraption on the roof of my house. It was a landmark. Made my life a lot easier. Or death. Or whatever.

Smirking, I let myself sink through the roof, right into my room. And found myself face to face with a stunned Jazz.

"D-Danny!" she said, "You're a... you're..."

"I'm a ghost," I said.

I put my feet on the ground, frowned a little and concentrated on turning human again. It came easier this time, and when I felt the blood rush through my veins again I let out a sigh of relief.

"You're bleeding."

I blinked and then remembered the long needle Vlad had stabbed me with. Before I could stop her, she had approached me and lifted my t-shirt.

"What's this?" she asked, pointing at the puncture hole right below my ribs.

"That's where the needle went in," I said, and then I wished I hadn't.

She looked at me in horror, and her hand flew to her mouth.

"Danny what happened! Did somebody capture you? Was it the GIW? How did you escape? How come you found your ghost form..."

"Jazz, relax. It was only Vlad. He sort of 'jump-started' my ghost form with a machine of his. It wasn't very pleasant, but it worked."

She got angry. "Only Vlad? _Only_ Vlad! What part of evil archenemy that wants to take over the world, kill dad and marry mom, not in any particular order', did you not understand?"

"Jazz..."

"You can't trust him, alright? I'm still not convinced he has nothing to do with your disappearance three months ago. Stay away from him, little bro, he only wants to take advantage of you..."

"Jazz..."

"Do you know how many times he has hurt you, tried to capture you, turn you into his perfect ghost hybrid son? He's a sick, lonely old man, Danny. He'll ruin us if he gets the chance, tear our family apart and kill anyone who stands in his way. And another thing..."

"JAZZ!"

She stopped. I sat down on the bed, clutching my side, and she finally got her priorities straight. She rushed out of the room and came back moments later with a first aid kit. I took off my shirt and allowed her to tape a gauze on the wound on my side. Then she looked at the shirt.

"Rinse it before throwing it into the laundry," she said, "That way mom won't notice."

"We've done this a lot, haven't we," I said.

She nodded. "More than I care to think about." She let her eyes wander over my scarred chest and abdomen and then shook her head. "Why were you at Vlad's anyway? He's responsible for a number of these, you know."

She pointed at my scars and I shrugged. "He picked me up at Mrs Crown's. I didn't have much choice. He..."

I stopped. I didn't want to tell her about the liquor store. She might understand what had been going on at the time. Or she might not. I needed her badly, and the thought that she could reject me sent shivers up my spine.

"What, Danny?"

I shook my head and pulled up my knees, wrapping my arms around them. I ignored the stinging feeling in my left side and tried to push the feeling of dread out of my mind. I'd have to face this on my own.

* * *

Later, much later, after we had dinner and I finished my homework, I went down to watch some TV. To my surprise, I found my mother there, sitting on the couch. I stood on the stairs and stared at her. Usually, she'd work in the lab late, and I didn't see much of her after dinner. She was watching something on TV.

Slowly, I stepped down the last few steps of the stairs and walked into the living room. She looked up.

"Oh, hi, Danny," she said pleasantly, using the remote to pause the tape she was watching, "I thought I'd wait for you for a change. You never come down in the lab anymore..." She faltered, and then a guilty look crossed her face. "I mean, I don't mind that, of course, you can do whatever you want, I don't want to keep on comparing you to what you used to do..."

"It's alright, Maddie," I said. I sat down beside her and looked at the paused image on the TV. "Whaddaya watching?"

She smiled hesitantly. "I don't know if you want to see this... I looked at these tapes a lot when you were gone... It's you and Jazz. When you were young."

"Sure," I said, curious.

She pressed the 'play' button on the remote and the blurry frozen image started moving again, showing a small boy, no older than six, on a swing in the backyard, being pushed by a large man with dark hair, wearing an orange hazmat suit. The boy was laughing and shouting 'faster, faster daddy, faster'.

There _had_ been a swing in the backyard. I knew it.

Jazz entered the picture, her long red hair in pigtails. She jumped up and down in front of the camera, probably operated by Maddie herself, and made funny faces until the person holding the camera was shaking with laughter. The scene ended and changed to what was obviously a birthday party. The same small boy was trying to take a deep breath, preparing himself to blow out the seven candles on a birthday cake, but every time he tried to do that the black boy sitting next to him made him laugh.

"Is that Tucker?" I asked.

Maddie nodded.

"Where's Sam?"

She smiled sadly. "She didn't come along until much later. I do have her somewhere. Do you want to see?"

I nodded, and she got up and started rummaging through a box containing video tapes and DVD cases. A lot of them, I saw, had dates on them, and short descriptions of family happenings or lab experiments. They were all thrown in haphazardly, as if they all belonged together, and a strange thought struck me. Did my parents see the difference between a lab experiment and family?

I dismissed that thought as being too ridiculous to be true, but a remnant of it festered in the back of my head.

Finally, she took out a tape, carefully read the contents and swapped it with the one in the video recorder. She pressed the button, and there she was.

Sam was sitting on the same couch we were on, cross legged, her hair hanging in front of her face. She seemed to be about fourteen years old, and she was looking down at a book on her lap. Suddenly, she looked up, and I watched as the surprised expression on her face changed into a scowl.

"Danny, stop filming already," she said, and made a grabbing movement with her right hand.

The person holding the camera, me, apparently, jumped backwards and laughed. Then, from somewhere out of sight, somebody threw a pillow at Sam, hitting her on the head. He burst out laughing.

"Yeah, real mature, Tucker. I'm gonna get you!"

She jumped up, and the camera moved backwards in a hurry to get out of the way. Sam rushed after Tucker, who ran around the room screaming, and finally ran towards the camera, which suddenly jerked upwards and pointed at the ceiling, recording only the muffled sounds of laughter.

I sat very still. I think my mother touched my arm, but I didn't react to it. Then she was hugging me and I felt the warmth of her flow into me, trying to comfort me. I kept staring at the images of a laughing Sam, making funny faces at the camera.


	12. Midnight Knights

A/N: Two chapters in one day! Of which the combined length still makes it shorter than the previous chapter. Chapter 13 will follow either later tonight or tomorrow, depending on how much I feel like editing.

Oh, and if you see any typos or other stupid mistakes, don't hesitate to tell me. I found some embarrassing ones in the previous chapter (Really. Pocked where I mean pocket...). So if you spot something, don't think, oh, it's just a little typo, I don't mind. _I _mind. Thank you.

* * *

**LOST**

**Chapter 12: Midnight Knights**

* * *

I shot upright, scrambling, pushing myself backwards until my back hit the wall. My heart was pounding, my breathing came in short gasps and I was shaking badly, in the way that you try to hold still but every now and then your body sends a shudder through you that seems to come from somewhere deep inside. The scream that was ready to leave my mouth caught in my throat, and I swallowed a couple of times to drive away the nausea. Then, for the first time, I looked at my surroundings.

Dark room. Shadows. Curtains moving quietly in the soft breeze that came through the open window. Moonlight shining through the opening between the not fully closed curtains, producing a bright line on the floor and the opposing wall, dividing the room in two equal parts. My room. Nothing to be afraid of.

I wiped the sweat off my brow and tried to relax. I didn't know what woke me, couldn't remember the dream that had me almost screaming. My legs were somehow tangled up in my sheets and I pushed and struggled to free myself. Then I got up and stumbled to the door with the intention of getting a glass of water.

I didn't get there.

Two things happened. One, my dazed brain did a couple of back flips and settled down on one word: crowbar. I stopped in the middle of the room, one foot on the rug, the other on the cold planks that made up the floor. I blinked a couple of times and shook my head, trying to clear it. Bits and pieces, that was what I had. Feelings. Strange undercurrents, causing anxiety over things that normal people would brush away. Crowbar.

Before I could examine that thought thoroughly, however, thing number two happened. A cold, coming from inside of me, cooling the air in my lungs, causing my breath to come out as if it was really cold in the room. Ghost sense. It pushed the thought about the crowbar to the back of my mind, where it stayed, festering, pouting, glaring at me as if it were important.

"Later," I muttered, feeling like an idiot for talking to myself.

I hesitated for a moment, but then reached for that coldness, that dead feeling that I always carried with me, remembering how I had transformed that afternoon in Vlad's lab. It was still terrifying, the way the two white rings came to life around my waist, how they traveled over my body, effectively killing me. When it was done, when I was dead, I started hovering, examining myself and the power I was somehow holding back. I had neglected to do that earlier, with all the scares from the transformation and the exhilaration from the flying.

It felt both familiar and strange. I could feel not only myself, but also outside myself. Jazz, sleeping in the room next to me, a deep, dreamless sleep. I brushed her briefly, guiltily, and then withdrew. She shuddered in her sleep.

My parents across the hall. My father, mumbling. My mother, perfectly still. Emotions came from them, a strange mixture of happiness (Jack) and worried contentment (Maddie). I lingered longer there, wanting to touch them even though I wasn't really in the room and the only thing that stopped me was the scary thought that if I touched them I would somehow feed off them.

I refocused my attention to the basement. The portal, I could almost see it. In my imagination it glowed green, inviting, _connecting_. Ghosts belong in the ghost zone. I should...

I pushed that thought away and instead shot upwards through the ceiling, going intangible at the last moment. Once outside I picked up speed and went up high in the sky, putting as much distance between me and the luring ghost portal as possible. The pull of it was so much stronger in my ghost form that it felt like some sort of magnet. I had to get away from it lest it suck me in, and the scary part was that somehow that didn't seem all that bad. I was already halfway dead anyway, how much worse than the real world could the ghost zone be? No more talks with Mrs Crown. No more trying to catch up in school. No more having to look at all those people that expected me to remember when I didn't want to...

No more Jazz. No more Maddie. No more goofy, fudge eating Jack.

Maybe I was thinking too much.

My ghost sense was still going strong, and I looked around, watching the city from high above, trying to find the source of the ghost that caused it. Ghosts that caused it. I spotted them almost immediately and I lowered myself on top of a high rise to have a closer look.

They were standing high above the ground, moving back and forth as if the air they were standing on was as substantial as the concrete of the building I was sitting on. They were knights, fully armored so I couldn't see their faces, and they were pounding into each other with heavy looking broadswords, the clanking sound of which barely reached me. Sparks rained down on the street below whenever their swords hit each other, and they seemed to flicker somehow, as if they weren't really made out of iron, but out of ectoplasm. They talked to each other, but I couldn't hear what they were saying. One was white and shining, the other was black and ominous.

Reason and a background in fairy tales and bad comic books told me the knight in white was the good guy and the black knight the bad guy. Which probably meant it was the other way around. I had no way of knowing, so I resolved myself to watching. I sat down comfortably and glanced around to see if anybody else was awake. I had no idea what time it was, but it felt two AM-ish. Everything was dark and quiet though.

I wondered why they were using swords. Surely they could just blast each other? My suspicion that the swords were made of ectoplasm was confirmed when the white knight struck the black knight with a particularly strong blow, causing the black knight's sword to break. It sizzled for a moment, and then disappeared. The black knight jumped backwards and held out his hand, trying to form a new sword.

Too late. He had barely managed to form a sizzling ray of green light, not unlike a light saber, when the white knight struck again. The black knight cried out, but his cry was cut off when the white knight literally cut of his head in one blow. The head spun through the air and strangely landed on what the knights had agreed on was the ground, rolling and bouncing in my direction. It was eerie but fascinating, and I got up and moved myself closer to the severed head. Somewhere in the back of my mind something stirred, telling me I should be really grossed out over this, but my now dominant ghost side argued that I'd never seen a severed head before and that it would be cool to have a look at it.

So I placed myself on the imaginary ground and walked to the black helmet, leaking green ectoplasm. From the other side, the white knight was approaching. He was still far away though, so I'd have plenty of time to get out of there in a hurry when necessary. I squatted and carefully opened the knight's visor.

Blank, pale gray eyes stared at me. He seemed to be a young man, a little older than me, with blue skin and dark blue hair. I stared back at him. Could ghosts really die? I let go of the visor and looked up at the white knight, who was now closing in quickly. I decided that I needed to stay away from his sword and backed away. He stopped.

"Who art thou?" he asked in a booming voice one usually reserves for a stage, "Take thee away from my prize."

"Hey," I said, "I was only looking. What's with the archaic language?"

The knight drew himself up straighter and placed his left arm across his chest. His right was still holding the sword, on which I clearly saw some green blood.

"I am Cuminder, knight of Armagondia, and I have just slain this treacherous villain which hath dared to oppose my prince. Art thou challenging me?"

I waved my hands and stepped back even further. I could probably blast him out of his armor but the problem was I still had to figure out how to do that. So for now, the tactic would be avoid fights. I had no intention of ending up with my head severed from my torso. I had a feeling, from the looks of the head on the 'ground', that that kind of injury was permanent.

"No no no," I said, "By all means, slay away. But why here? I mean, you look like you belong in the ghost zone."

Cuminder looked around and seemed to see his surroundings for the first time. He opened his visor, and I caught a glimpse of a green skinned, red eyed man. He looked at me with a haughty look on his face.

"A gateway has opened," he said, "It doth accidentally move us from our realm. I shall return presently."

He bend down and unceremoniously picked up the head.

"So," I said, "He's dead, then?"

Cuminder paused. "Thou hath not been dead long," he observed, "For thou wouldst have known that ghosts do not die. Nay, young ghost, he is severed. As long as I have his head, he cannot act. I shall take it with me and that way be done with this villain. I greet thee, young ghost."

"Um," I said, almost running to keep up with him as he walked away, "My name is Danny Phantom."

He looked sideways at me. "Thy name is famous," he said, "I would gladly challenge thee if I was not expected by my master to report the demise of my adversary."

"That's alright," I said, making a mental note to avoid the fellow in the future, "Some other time then."

We both stepped over the body laying, floating, on the imaginary ground and for a moment his arms twitched, as if he wanted to grab the head that was now close to him. He touched my leg and I jumped about three feet in the air. Cuminder laughed at me. He kept going and I kept following, looking back a couple of times at the corpse, if you can call it that, of the black knight.

"Aren't you going to take the rest of him?" I asked.

Cuminder shook his head but kept going. "Nay. I have no use for his body."

Images of a castle with hundreds of heads on poles in front of it entered my mind and I shuddered. Then I looked back again, to the dark form floating high above the ground. I couldn't leave him there, I thought sourly, which meant I had to clean up. I was so wrapped up in my resentment towards the two knights who had decided to make a mess of my town that I failed to see that Cuminder had stopped. I bumped into him and bounced back, falling to the ground. For some reason, I stopped my decent at the imaginary surface the white knight had determined was rock solid floor. I even bumped my head.

The portal was right there. A green crack in the sky, showing swirling green, with jagged edges that pulsated, growing wider and narrower as I looked at it. A natural portal. Very unstable. And just as alluring as the portal in my parents' basement, though with considerably less force. The white knight looked down on me as I laid there, staring at it.

"I bid thee farewell," he said, bowing, "Danny Phantom. I shall notify my prince about thee."

"Wait!" I said, remembering why I had followed him in the first place, "Can I ask you something?"

He hesitated, already half turned towards the portal which sparked and sizzled.

"The gateway doth close soon," he said, "I bid thee to make haste with thy question."

Fair enough. "Do you know about humans in the ghost zone? Two friends of mine are missing, and..."

"Nay." he said. And stepped through the portal.

Stunned at his sudden departure, I stared at the glowing crack in the sky. Why did he leave like that? He was a pompous, arrogant ass, but he had seemed friendly enough. I got up on my hands and knees and then decided to let go of the pretense of standing on the ground and floated closer to the portal. Tentatively, I brought my hand closer to it and touched the edge.

"Ouch!"

Quickly, I withdrew my hand. The edge was sharp and hot, and had cut neatly through my gloves into my fingers. Green ectoplasm was leaking out, running down my arm and dripping to the stupid imaginary ground.

"Cut that out," I grumbled to it, and to my surprise the ectoplasm started floating downwards again. Weird.

And then, suddenly, the portal closed. It shimmered a little and then was gone. I wondered what would happen if someone was passing through while it closed, but then I decided I didn't really want to know. Strange thing was, although it was gone, I could still feel it slightly. I extended my other hand and moved it through the space where the portal had been. I could feel the edges of it. Faint, but there. Somehow, even though the portal was closed, this place now represented a weak spot in the boundary that separated the real world from the ghost zone. I moved backwards some, and then forward again, and had a hard time finding it again. I wondered how many weak spots I passed each day without noticing them.

My right hand was throbbing and still leaking ectoplasm. Time to go home and get a band aid. Quickly, I flew back to the black knight without head, grabbed a leg and started pulling. It was harder than I thought. Like dragging a body over the ground.

"Come on, float, you stupid thing," I shouted at it.

Somewhere below me a window lit up and somebody peered outside. Great, a witness to me dragging away the corpse of a dead medieval knight in full armor without helmet or head. I tried invisible, and the both of us disappeared from sight. Much better. I firmly dismissed the idea of mid-air ground and pulled the black knight all the way to my house. In the basement I let go of him, where he continued to float.

"Oh, now you float," I said irritably.

I looked around. Now what. I considered tossing him into the ghost zone, but somehow that seemed wrong. Then again, I couldn't bury him. You don't bury ghosts, they are already buried somewhere. Besides, he wasn't really... dead. Well, dead, but not dead dead. My head started to pound. I really shouldn't try to reason myself out of this, not with that ghost portal close by screaming at me to open it. I placed my feet on the ground and let myself go human again, which greatly reduced the attraction of the ghost zone to a slight tugging. Annoying, but bearable. I turned and found myself face to... hole-where-the-head-should-be floating ghost.

"Yuk," I said.

The view was extremely unpleasant, and to be rid of him I grabbed one of the thermoses that were standing on one of the shelves and sucked him in. I'd figure out what to do with him later. Better yet, I'd ask Jazz. Satisfied that I had solved this problem, for now, I sauntered up the stairs to the living room and then further up to my own room. Only when I reached the top of the stairs I realized I was still bleeding, and in fact had left a bloody trail all the way from the basement to the top of the stairs.

I looked at my hand. A nasty cut, running on the inside on four fingers where I had so carelessly touched the edge of the natural portal. Sighing, I walked to my room where I knew I kept a first aid kit hidden in the closet. I'd have to tape my fingers, then clean the stairs and the lab and then go back to bed to try and get some sleep. I entered my room and stopped. Somebody was there, laying on my bed, breathing softly.

She was asleep. Her red hair looked frizzled, her blue pajamas crumpled. Goosebumps on her arms. I walked to her and gently shook her.

"Jazz," I whispered.

She shot up and grabbed my arms. "Danny!" she gasped, "Are you alright?"

"Sure," I said, "What are you doing here?"

She looked at my alarm clock. Two thirty.

"I woke up about an hour ago and decided to check on you... what were you doing? Ghost sense go off? You didn't fight, did you?"

"No," I said, "But if you could help me with this..."

I held up my damaged hand and as she wrapped the bandages around my fingers I told her about the fighting knights and the natural portal. She nodded and uhuh-ed a lot, and then helped me wipe away the blood from the stairs and the lab. By the time we were done it was already past three AM, and I was yawning when I reentered my room, followed by Jazz.

"We'll have to check out this land he came from," she said, "Maybe we can return the body of that black knight to it somehow..."

"Or," I said, tossing the thermos under my bed, "We could stay out of this. It isn't our war. As long as they are happy with beheading each other, who am I to interfere? Unless they come to Amity Park, that is."

She looked at me. "That's cold, Danny," she said, "You said it yourself, he isn't dead. He could be reunited with his head..."

"Why should I want that?" I tried to sound reasonable, but found it very hard in the middle of the night. "For all I know, he's the bad guy here. Cuminder didn't seem like a bad sort. A bit rude. And pompous. And arrogant. OK, maybe it would be nice to chop _his_ head off just to get rid of all the thees and thous, but I'm just not going to bother, OK?"

"Maybe he knows something."

"And maybe he doesn't." I dropped down on my bed. "Let's talk about it in the morning, OK?"

She agreed and left, turning off the light. I laid in the darkness for a while, eyes wide open. I was tired. My heart was pounding. Too much excitement, too much adrenaline. It took me a long time to relax, and when I finally nodded off my dreams were haunted by the two knights fighting. And every time the black knight got beheaded, his head flying through the air and landing right in front of me. But now, when I opened the visor, it wasn't the face of the young, blue faced ghost I saw. It was my own face.


	13. Conflicts

* * *

**LOST**

**Chapter 13: Conflicts**

* * *

George Nicolaidis. That was his name. Jazz had found out his name on Tuesday, but I had chickened out on visiting him until now. I hovered above the hospital, invisible – ghost powers do come pretty handy when you don't have a car – and I was watching the cars pull out of the parking lot, nurses and doctors going home, visitors leaving. It was past visiting hours, again, but this time I didn't have to worry about that.

By the end of this week, they'd move him to a rehabilitation center in Los Angeles, where he came from. Now was the time. I let myself drift to the ground to the side of the building and hid between some dumpsters and trashcans. A door stood open, and I could see right into the kitchen. I shuddered. This was where they prepared the hospital food.

Making sure nobody saw me, I reverted back to my human side. Going ghost still freaked me out a bit, but not as bad as it had before. Going human... was exhilarating. It made me appreciate just being alive and breathing. No matter what everybody thought I might do, I would never kill myself. Being dead wasn't half as much fun as it was made out to be. Being a ghost, however, had it's perks.

Turning invisible – I no longer had trouble doing that in my human form – I walked into the hospital, ignoring the reception desk. I phased through the sliding doors into the hallway that led to the rooms on the first floor, noticing with a chuckle that the doors still reacted to my presence. They opened when I passed them. I walked all the way to the back, to room 1.45. George's room.

Taking cover behind a large, empty food cart, I turned visible and stood there for a while, staring at the door. Then I stepped forward, opened it and quickly stepped inside.

George was sitting upright in his bed. He wore an over-sized pajama jacket that hung partially open, and I could see stiff white bandages on his right shoulder and upper torso. His dark hair hung in his face as he awkwardly tried to scoop some peas on his spoon with his left hand. His right arm was hanging down, immobile. He looked pale and skinny.

"Hi, Georgie," I said.

He hadn't heard me come in. His head shot up and I saw the surprise and wariness in his eyes when he recognized me. He put down the spoon and leaned back into his pillow.

"Well, now," he said, "If it isn't our hero. Come to rub it in?"

I flinched and shook my head. I couldn't look him in the eyes, so I looked around the room instead, searching for a chair. There were some folded chairs in the corner, and I took one and placed it next to the bed. George was watching me the whole time, his face a blank. I cleared my throat.

"I, um, came to apologize," I said, "I didn't mean for you to get captured. Or shot. Or anything."

He laughed without mirth.

"Yeah, right," he said, "And you didn't see that huge squad car coming, did you. You sold us out."

This was not going very well. George looked pale, sweat trickling down his face, red spots on his cheek.

"Are you alright?" I asked.

"No, I'm not alright, Alan or whatever your name is, my shoulder is shot to pieces, I may never be able to use my right arm properly again and I'm going back to that stupid foster home. So excuse me if I'm a bit pissed at you."

I took a deep breath and looked down at the thin blanket on his bed. It was yellow, with a woven in pattern of small squares. Odd, how I came to appreciate the structure of various cloths, rugs and blankets lately.

"I'm sorry," I said inadequately.

I sat there for a while, and George remained quiet. When I finally looked up, I found him staring at me. Then he reached out, grabbed my arm and turned it around to examine the fading scar there.

"That detective asked if we knew you before... did you really lose your memory?"

I nodded.

"Weird."

Again, a silence fell over the room. George picked up his spoon and again tried to capture some peas. I reached over, grabbed the knife and helped him pick them up.

"Thanks," he mumbled, "Hate the stuff, but that's all they serve here."

He looked at me to see if I would laugh at that, but I didn't think it was funny. He poked me with his spoon.

"Lighten up," he said, "At least you got out OK. And I heard John and Julio got a good lawyer too now. They're out. John's back to New York, and I think they sent Julio to his grandmother, don't know where she lives. Won't be long before both of them are on the street again."

He took a moment to get a spoonful of mashed potato and then continued.

"John came to see me. Said some very unkind things about you. Did you really beat him up?"

I shook my head, but then nodded. "I didn't mean to," I said, "He was coming at me. I didn't mean to hit him that hard."

George looked pensively at his plate and seemed to come to the conclusion he'd had enough, because he put down his spoon.

"I'm being blackmailed," I said.

His head shot up and he looked at me in surprise.

"Who?" he asked, "With what?"

"The liquor store. John talked to someone, and that someone managed to get his hands on the tape. John isn't recognizable, but I am."

"That sucks," George said.

I agreed with him. George's face crumpled in thought.

"I don't suppose you could steal back that tape," he said, "No, that'd be pointless, huh. He'd have copies. Maybe you should talk to Terry. He likes you. Hey, he can get you a fake ID if you want. He got one for John."

"What do you mean, talk to Terry?" I asked. 

"Figure it out," George smirked, "People don't live forever, you know."

Appalled at his suggestion, I moved back somewhat. George saw the look on my face and started laughing. Then he pushed himself up somewhat and leaned forward.

"Now get out of here so I can get some sleep," he said, "I'm tired, with all those pain killers not working and such."

I got up and placed the chair back where it belonged. George let himself fall backwards in his pillow again, and he looked small and vulnerable. Except for his eyes. They were the eyes of an old man. I walked to the door.

"Alan."

I stopped and turned around.

"Don't come back. I don't ever want to see your face again."

I left the hospital as a normal, human boy, not bothering to hide from the nurses that bristled through the hallways anymore. I got some odd looks, but nobody stopped me or asked me what I was doing there after visiting hours. I had done what I had to do, finally, and it left a bad taste in my mouth.

I hadn't really expected him to forgive me, but the way he dismissed me still hurt. I was totally alone in this world, and the only people who cared were my sister and my parents. I was unsure of how they'd react when they found out I had robbed a liquor store. And my parents hated my ghost side. Real confidence booster, that was. Jazz had tried to explain it to me, how they didn't know, how they were blinded by their prejudices against ghosts, but I couldn't shake the feeling of rejection.

I had been on the news, or rather, Phantom had been on the news. An excited anchor woman named Tiffany had relayed eye witness reports of people seeing me streak through the sky at top speed. With each story the tale got wilder. My parents had watched it with disapproval, and I had watched them watching it. I hadn't liked what I saw.

I had told them I was going for a walk, sullenly complying with Vlad's rule that I always let my mother know where I was so she wouldn't worry. He had me in his power, and he pulled my strings like a puppet. I hated it, but for now, there was nothing I could do about it. Except ignoring it, pushing it from my mind. I had become rather good at that.

I had dutifully gone to school in the morning, although thoughts of skipping kept popping up more and more frequently with each class. It didn't help that I had hardly slept that night, bothered by the recurring dream of the knight getting beheaded and turning out to be me. At one point I even fell asleep in class, and I awoke with a yelp when I once again looked into my own dead eyes staring at me. Naturally, this was during math, where Mr Faluca held a five minute sarcastic speech about sleeping in class standing next to me, which had the class in stitches and me wishing myself invisible. Knowing that I really had that option didn't help at all.

If it wasn't for Jazz helping me with my homework, forcing me to focus, I don't think I would have made it through. As it was, the teachers were pleasantly surprised when I handed in their assignments, although Mrs Kimble made a snide remark about my sister doing it for me. I had managed to ignore her, and instead had directed my angry gaze at the trees outside.

I thought about the headless knight hidden under my bed, and other things that I had hidden somewhere else. The endless discussions with Jazz kept us going around in circles. I had information on ghosts, probably on some external hard-disc or memory stick. Jazz had said I even had a crude map of the ghost zone. But I couldn't think of a hiding place that wouldn't make it inaccessible to Sam or Tucker if I wasn't around.

After the session with Mrs Crown, which I now thought of as pointless, Vlad had picked me up again and had started his 'training'. Which consisted mostly of forcing me to use my ghost powers. Shields, ecto rays, intangibility. I was always somehow lacking, somehow never quite good enough. When I exploded on him again, he knocked me against the wall and I reverted back human. Then I had gone home, only to go out again to see George. Which had also been a total disaster.

Four days. Only four days had passed since I had started school. Less than two weeks since I found out I was Danny Fenton. A little over a month since I found myself in that cabin. And somehow, my life seemed to get more complex with every step I took.

What I really wanted was a break. Let my mind numb over. Just for a little while.

I stopped and gasped. I had allowed that thought in. I knew it wouldn't leave me alone now. And of course at that exact moment I had to come face to face with a slightly run down building across the street with bars in front of the windows. Another liquor store. Too easy.

I leaned against the fence that was running along the sidewalk, separating some construction site from us innocent and unsuspecting civilians, and stared at it. Too easy. I only had to go invisible, walk in and grab anything I wanted. Get what I wanted by using my ghost powers. Like Vlad. I'd be a thief. I'd be exactly what everybody thought I was. The anger surfaced again and I stared intently at the entrance, watching the people go in and then come out with paper bags containing their booze. Some of them shot me a suspicious look, but most of them ignored me.

Just this once. A reprieve. Nobody would know.

I turned around and practically ran away. I wasn't a thief. Yet. But I didn't know how long I could withstand the pressure of the people, my family, Vlad, Mrs Crown, pushing me, the ghost portal and the booze pulling me, and me standing in the middle.

Instead of going home, I went someplace else. Someplace I had sworn I'd never go back to.

* * *

I sat down at the kitchen table, next to Grace, who seemed glued to her chair. For as long as I can remember – which isn't long of course – she always sits there. I don't know when she cooks, I never see her do it, but there's always a pan on the stove. Sometimes I think she sleeps there too. Terry handed me a beer can and I automatically opened it.

"So," he said, looking at me impassively, "Daniel Fenton. To what do we owe the honor of your presence?"

I was silent and stared at the can in front of me. I promised not to. But it was unlikely they'd find out, so I took a sip. It was nice and cold.

"What's the matter, Terry, can't I go and look up an old friend?" I asked, trying to hide my nervousness around the man. _Anything_, John had said.

"I don't have friends, kid," Terry said, "And being your friend isn't exactly healthy."

I cringed, thinking of George.

"You said you weren't wanted by the police," he continued.

"Well, I didn't know," I said.

"You lied to me."

"No, I didn't. I didn't know. It could have been true."

Grace's cold, pale blue eyes kept watching me, somehow looking straight through me, as always. She smiled that eerie smile of hers.

"They've cut him off," she said, "He's not here for you, Terry, our little boy here has come for the beer."

I jumped up and looked at her angrily. She cackled and the sound of it hurt my ears. The kitchen seemed like an ominous place all of a sudden, and I clutched the back of my chair tightly.

"L-look," I said, straining to keep my voice even, "John had a fake ID. Can you get me one too?"

Grace pointed her crooked finger at my chair. She looked like a witch.

"Sit," she commanded, and without realizing I had moved, I was suddenly sitting at the table again.

Terry shook his head.

"Can't do that, kid," he said, "John could look the part. You look like a kid."

He leaned forward.

"They'd arrest you faster than you can say 'sixpack', and then you'd tell them where you got the fake ID from and they'd come here. I'm not going to get arrested because some twisted little boy can't handle his life."

I don't know what came over me. The pain and the hurt that were always somewhere down deep inside of me suddenly swirled to the surface, presenting themselves as rage. I jumped up again and the chair fell backwards on the floor. Before anybody could blink their eyes I had slammed Terry against the wall, my right hand pressed against his neck, my elbow leaning against his chest. It would only take one quick twist.

"I could snap your neck," I hissed.

A brief flicker in his eyes told me I had at least shocked him. But that was as far as I got. A sudden sting in my stomach told me he wasn't unarmed.

"And I could cut you right open," he said coolly, "Let go, little boy."

Reluctantly, I eased my grip on him and he pushed me away. He was holding a knife in his right hand, it's tip red. I looked down at my shirt and saw a red spot there too, slowly growing. A wave of nausea washed over me and I swayed a little. Someone grabbed my arm and shoved me down on a chair again. I pressed my hands against my stomach and looked up, straight into Terry's unforgiving eyes.

"You keep quiet about me," he said, "And I'll leave you and your family alone. I know where you live, never forget that. When you're older and can look the part, come see me about that ID again. In the meantime, I'm sure Frankie will help you if you give him some money."

He took two steps to the counter, opened a drawer and pulled out a roll of bandages.

"Get yourself cleaned up," he said, "And grab a clean t-shirt. It's on the house."

He threw the roll at me and I caught it. In the end, they had to help me wrap my abdomen to cover up the nasty cut just above the navel. Then I stumbled upstairs, rummaged through the box with clothing again until I found something that fit and then walked downstairs to leave.

Terry was standing in the doorway, holding something.

"Here," he said, holding out a sixpack, "Something for the road."

I stared at the beer. It was what I'd come for. I thought about the darkness, the despair, the trains thundering on the tracks, the pleasant haze of the alcohol, shutting down my brain, taking the pain away...

Slowly, I turned around and left, never looking back.


	14. Exploring

A/N: Um. Heh. It's been two weeks. Story is running away from me again... see that tiny figure holding it by its tail? That's me. Still going in the right direction though, so no worries.

I'm sort of changing tactics. You may see shorter chapters, closely following each other (because I'm real good at updating... right.) I'm doing that because I want to separate sections that don't belong together.

* * *

**LOST**

**Chapter 14: Exploring**

* * *

I was late and I hadn't called them where I was, so my parents gave me the standard lecture again about calling them, they worried about me, and I should be more careful. I was restless, eying the leftover spaghetti with the faintly glowing sauce and only half listening, the thoughts in my head swirling, revolving around the center thought in my brain: Find Sam. Find Tucker. At any cost.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm sorry Maddie, I forgot," I said hastily when she stopped to take a breath.

She stopped talking and looked at me, and I saw the realization there that she couldn't get through to me no matter how hard she tried. I felt guilty again, but I suppressed that feeling. I had more pressing matters.

"Honey, please understand," she said, an uncertain look on her face, "I know you don't think us a real family, but we have certain rules here, and if you're going to live here, you'll have to abide by them..."

I sighed and I shouldn't have. Or taken a mint or something. Because she smelled my breath. She stiffened.

"You've been drinking," she said accusingly, a scared and disappointed expression washing over her face.

Jack, who was just getting up to get a second desert, started and sat back down at the kitchen table. Jazz, who had been clearing the table, ignoring the fact that her father was still eating, almost dropped the glasses she was holding.

"O-only a little bit," I stuttered, backing away. This was not going the way I had planned. "One beer. Didn't even get to finish it."

A silence fell over the kitchen as they all stared at me. A car drove by. The refrigerator hummed. I looked at the ground, avoiding their eyes.

"Sweetie," my mother started.

"I'm not drunk!"

She shook her head in exasperation. "Who gave you that beer, Danny?"

Well, that was one question I wasn't going to answer. "I'll be in my room," I said, abruptly turning around.

I rushed up the stairs, but I couldn't get away that easily. My mother followed close behind. She entered my room with me and then hesitated.

"I don't want to do this," she said, "But I'm going to search your room."

I threw my hands in the air and let myself fall down on the bed. She didn't trust me. Well, I wouldn't trust me either, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt. She opened the drawers of my desk, felt around in my closet and then made me get off the bed so she could feel under the mattress. I looked at her coldly, and she finally gave up.

"I'm sorry, Danny," she said, "But in your condition..."

I turned away and purposefully stared out of the window.

"Danny, please understand, it's not that I don't trust you, but I know it can be hard..."

"You have no idea," I said hoarsely, "Could you please just leave me alone?"

She left. I kept staring out of the window, but finally turned around when I didn't hear the door close behind her. Jazz was standing there, a hurt look on her face.

"Why?" she asked.

"Oh, God, I'm sick and tired of being psychoanalyzed the whole day," I said, dropping down on my bed once again, "Please drop it, Jazz."

"I can't."

She stepped into the room, closing the door behind her and I groaned.

"You have ways to hide things in a way that we can never find them. Danny, please look at me. Did you hide beer, or anything else with alcohol in it in your room, underneath the floor, or in the wall or something? Do I need to tear down your room just to make sure?"

I lifted my head and scowled at her. "No," I said, "I've never..." I stopped. I stared at her without really seeing her. Hide things so they would never be found, by turning them intangible and burying them underground. Or in a wall. Or beneath the floor planks without leaving marks. Only accessible by tearing down the room.

The crowbar.

I jumped up, yanked the doors of my closet open and dove into it, retrieving the crowbar stashed in the back and generally making a mess of things. Then I looked around. Where could I use this, what part of the room would be accessible with a crowbar... I dismissed the walls. Too smooth. Or the ceiling, too high. It needed to be easily accessible in case of emergency, in case I wasn't there to retrieve whatever it was that I had hidden. That left the floor.

I looked at it intently. The planks were really close together. No cracks to be seen, nowhere to jam the end of the crowbar in and start pulling. I yanked the small rug beside my bed aside. Nothing. Jazz seemed to get what I was trying to do, because she pulled the bed aside completely. I shook my head at it, not accessible enough. I wandered to my desk, weighing the crowbar in my hands. I kicked the trashcan. A soda can fell out. Under the trashcan, there was a small crack in the floor, almost unnoticeable. I dropped the crowbar, turned my hand intangible and stuck it through the floor.

Which, of course, turned up nothing. I frowned a little, wondering if I could pull it off, and then concentrated on turning my fingers tangible, while keeping my arm intangible. This sounds easier than it is. Somehow, I had to connect so something that was there through something that was, basically, not there. After a few tries I stopped wondering about how it could be possible and just did it.

I felt it immediately. I curled my fingers around the small object and pulled my hand back, remembering to turn everything I wanted out of the floor intangible again. I held out my hand to Jazz, who was leaning over me. A memory stick. Dusty. Excitement rushed through me, and I quickly turned on my computer.

"There should be a map, too," Jazz said.

She obviously had forgotten all about why she was there in the first place, and I was glad. I didn't want her focusing on my supposed drinking issues, I wanted her to help me find my friends. Solve that mystery and the other problems would go away. I stuck my hand into the floor again, and this time retrieved a piece of paper. The map. It was yellowed with age, annotated with notes and scribbling in the margins. It looked well used.

I was grinning like crazy when I sat down behind my desk, impatiently typing in my new password and sticking the memory stick into the computer. Muttering 'Come on, come on' to the computer, I waited for the thing to settle down, staring intently at the little hourglass that refused to let me do anything until the thing was done starting up. Finally, I was able to access the memory stick, and I stared at its contents in amazement.

Hundreds of files. Documents, pictures, a database. A real treasure.

"This is it," Jazz said excitedly, "This is what I found on your computer the other day, only there is so much more of it now! Look a the size of that database! I bet it catalogs ghosts..."

"You were in my computer?" I asked.

She turned red. "You excluded me. I needed to know. Besides, it's a long time ago, almost three years..."

I frowned at her, but decided to let it rest. For the moment. I turned back to the screen and double clicked the database. Luckily, it didn't need a password. I typed a request for a listing of all the ghosts, and was rewarded with a long list of names, alphabetically sorted. Amorpho, The 'Ancient Ghosts', Aragon, Behemoth...

"There's so many of them..." I said.

I mindlessly scrolled down the list until I reached 'Skulker', and clicked that one to get more information. There was a picture of him, a list of strengths and weaknesses, and I laughed a little at the picture of the tiny blob that really was Skulker. There was also a reference to Vlad.

"Vlad," I breathed, "He works for Vlad..."

I stared off into space. What did that mean? Why had he attacked me that day? My mother's voice coming from outside the room brought me back to reality.

"Danny? Are you going to eat your dinner or should I put it in the fridge?"

I had dinner by myself, sitting alone at the kitchen table, ignoring the faint green glow that came off the spaghetti sauce. It occurred to me that I no longer questioned my mother's cooking or my father's absentminded use of the ecto oven to give 'that extra glow' to his food. My mother was in the living room, and my father sort of hung around, hovering in and out of the kitchen, looking every time like he wanted to say something, but then thinking better of it. It was awkward. I ate quickly and hurried back upstairs, mumbling something about homework.

When Jazz entered my room an hour later, I was sitting at my desk, my math books in front of me without really seeing them. Instead, I was staring at the framed picture of me and my friends, trying to get through to them somehow, trying to access that part of my brain that hid them. The more I tried, the more they eluded me. The map of the ghost zone was laying next to my math book, which practically guaranteed that the book was a lost cause.

She pulled up another chair and sat down next to me, pushing the map away. She tried to guide me through the math problems, but I couldn't bring myself to listen. The unimportance of it all struck me, and after the third attempt to make me solve an equation she threw down her pencil in frustration.

"I know what you're thinking," she said to me, "We can't just go barge into the ghost zone, it's dangerous. It's huge, endless. That map, it shows only a very small part of it."

"But they're in there. I have to at least try," I said, putting the map on top of my math book again.

We both looked at it. Jazz sighed. "_We_ have to try," she said, "But first, we're going to study that map, and all those ghosts. We have to be prepared, Danny. You were once familiar with the ghost zone, you knew the dangers of it, but not anymore. Come on, let's finish that homework and then look at those ghosts again."

She forced me to concentrate, and I really tried this time. Somehow, I managed to finish my homework without Jazz practically having to dictate everything I wrote down. Then we looked at the database again. Bertrand. The Box Ghost – I'd met him. Box Lunch. Bullet.

Jazz started rubbing her eyes. I was tired too.

"Look, let's call it a day," I said, "We'll look at it again tomorrow, we'll have the whole afternoon because it's Friday."

She left, and I turned off the computer and dropped down on my bed. Laying down like that, completely still, I could hear the noises of the house. The TV was on downstairs, some wildlife documentary, probably my mother watching. Faint sounds coming from Jazz's room. A few cars driving by outside. And the distinct pull of the ghost portal.

I had resisted the thing for over a week now, and I now knew why it wanted me. I was part of it, I was made of ectoplasm, I needed to go in there and search my friends. I remembered Vlad's comments on how he hadn't been able to find me, that I 'wasn't in the human realm'. Assuming that he wasn't the one who had abducted us, and I know thought that he hadn't, we had been in the ghost zone. All I had to do was go in there and find them.

I waited until the sounds in the house died down, Jazz in the bathroom brushing her teeth, the TV turned off, my father's heavy footsteps on the stairs. A soft knock on my door and my mother entered the room. She looked at me for a moment, still laying on the bed with my hands behind my head, opened her mouth to say something, but then thought better of it. She smiled, said 'goodnight, sweetie', and left.

I gave them another hour to completely settle in their beds and fall asleep. I watched as the digits on my alarm clock slowly increased, until it was one AM. Then, I got up, transformed into my ghostly self in a flash and let myself sink through the floor all the way down to the basement. I wasn't going to wait any longer.

The lights in the lab were out, but I could still see. The vials on the shelves were giving off a greenish glow, on the other side of the basement some piece of equipment had a red blinking light on it, and I was giving off a faint white glow. In my eyes, it was as bright as day. The edges of the portal were also faintly glowing, and I floated closer to it and put my hands on the steel doors.

It was tantalizing. A slight, pricking feeling ran through my arms. I wanted to push myself through the door, but that was impossible. The door – thankfully – was ghost proof. I let myself drift to the red button on the side instead, and with some difficulty pulled off my glove. I studied my hand for a moment, surprised how normal it looked despite the unhealthy pallor and the faint glow that came off it. Then I pressed my thumb on the button and the doors slid open. It obviously paid to be a Fenton.

Now extremely aware of the green swirling of the ghost zone, I turned around and looked at the now open portal. It was calling out to me, and I felt myself smile in anticipation. This was what I had wanted to do the whole week. I no longer understood why I had been so afraid of it. The zone was welcoming me, inviting me in, and I was going to accept the invitation.

I drifted closer and put my hand against the swirling green. Then, mentally taking a deep breath, I thrust myself forward and entered.

I don't know what I expected. Maybe just more of that green stuff, swirling around me. Like taking a bath. But it was strange, comfortably eerie, vast. The main color was indeed green. There seemed to be no up or down, no 'sky' or 'ground', just an endless... something in all directions. I was connected to it, I could feel it's rhythm, it's flow, it's... well, you can't call it a heartbeat, but it had one. A silent drum, reverberating through me, encouraging me to go in further, and I did. I moved a few feet, I thought, and then looked back at the portal.

It was impossibly far away. I blinked in surprise and then narrowed my eyes. Anxiously I moved back to it, and it was there, right in front of me. Distances, it seemed, were something else around here. Suddenly I was worried. I had looked at the map and it had seemed simple, easy, but if the dimensions here were different...

I caught a movement from the corner of my eyes and swirled. In the distance, vague figures moved, passing me, apparently not noticing me. I realized I should be on guard here. However much this felt like home, it was still enemy territory. Ghosts were dangerous.

I moved away from the portal again and decided to take a quick look around before returning to the lab. It wouldn't hurt to know what was here, what I was up against. I looked back a couple of times to ascertain that I could indeed find the portal again, taking note of my environment, if you can speak of one in there.

The ghost zone was extremely weird. I had no reference points, only strange shapes and streams of ectoplasm. Purple doors, of which I had no idea where they led. Islands were floating, far away, and I curiously let myself down in that direction. I landed on one of the islands and looked around.

Some sort of forest, lots of fern, high trees, purple flowers. It all looked sort of normal, which, of course, was strange for this place. I took a step between the fern and I felt something snap beneath my feet. Curiously, I looked down and used my hands to push away the leaves.

I started to tremble and my knees buckled. Before I knew it, I was down on the ground, my left hand touching something round and smooth, my right hand touching the many stick-like objects hidden beneath the fern. There was another color here in the ghost zone, another color beside green and purple. White. Bones, hundreds, thousands of them, scattered on the ground, just beneath the undergrowth of the trees. They were dry and incredibly smooth, and they rattled against each other as I tried to move.

My left hand was resting on a skull. A human skull. I didn't need to wonder about the cause of death for that one, as it had a small, round hole right between the eyes. I wanted to scream, but somehow forgot that I had no air in my lungs. No sound came out. It took my frozen brain a few seconds before I realized I could just fly out of there.

Not.

I pushed myself up and tried to mentally access the 'go fly' in my head, but it didn't work. Somehow, this floating piece of rock was keeping me down, gravity where no gravity should exist. I realized belatedly that I should have avoided coming down here. I blundered into this place, thinking of it as if it were a walk in the park. The ghost zone was dangerous. Jazz had warned me, tried to explain it to me, but I just hadn't listened to her. Again. My mind had been on that strange pulling, and I had been convinced that the ghost zone wasn't dangerous to me. Because I was a ghost.

I let some air into my lungs and it sounded like a sob. Slowly, I pushed myself up, willed myself to stand upright. I had to get moving, had to get out of there, if not flying then on foot. Which meant...

I took a step, and felt bones snap beneath my feet. I whimpered. Another step. Rattling, something rolled away, something white and round, bouncing through the fern. I stopped. I couldn't do this. I leaned against a tree and closed my eyes, trying to shut the world out. I put my gloved hands on the trunk, trying to feel some reality, something to hold on to, something else than the bones on the ground, the bones I could still feel beneath my boots.

The bark felt strange. It moved. It tugged on my gloves. I gulped, and forced my eyes open. This time, I did have air in my lungs. I screamed, and scrambled backwards. The bark consisted of thousands of little mouths with pointed teeth, gnawing at everything that touched the trunk of the tree. It had bitten a hole in my left glove, and as I watched, the place where I had touched the tree seemed to try to reach out to me, mouths opening wide, as if waiting to be fed.

I fled. I ignored the bones on the ground, their rattling, the snapping sound. I rushed away from the trees, weaving my way through the forest until I suddenly came to the edge of the floating island. Without stopping, I leaped. And flew.

Blinking, I turned around and viewed the island. It looked innocent, beautiful even with the large purple flowers growing on the edge. Deceivingly so. Islands, I decided with a shudder, should be avoided at all cost. I let myself drift upwards, towards the... well, not the sky. To the part of the ghost zone that I thought of as 'up'. I decided that I had seen enough of the place, that I needed to get back to my parent's lab, get some sleep. I was just about to move in the general direction of the portal when something grabbed me from behind, something wet and slimy, wrapping itself around my body, moving me towards it.

I struggled and groaned and managed to turn around, just in time to be able to stare into the huge yellow eyes of an ectopus, which inexorably drew me closer. For a moment, I was paralyzed, then I remembered I had means to do something about it so I tried to go intangible. Which, of course, didn't work. This was the ghost zone. I struggled to get my hands free, to no avail. I was really starting to get worried now. The ectopus was way stronger than I was, and it started squeezing. If I had been human, I'd have been dead, because there was no way I could have breathed.

I was under the ectopus now, and in a strange sort of fascination I looked at the opening there, which it was drawing me near to. At one point, I decided, the thing would have to let go of me, assuming it wouldn't eat its own tentacle. I stopped struggling, hoping the thing would think I was unconscious, and ease its grip somewhat. I knew I could get out of this. The only thing I needed to do was stay calm, which, in the end, proved harder than I thought.

Its mouth, for lack of a better word, opened, and the creature suddenly let go of me, flinging me in the direction of the opening. Before I knew it, I was in it and it started closing around me. It was dark and slimy and it _burned_.

I panicked. I kicked and tried to move, but the space was very tight, and some sort of acid started eating it's way through my jumpsuit. I couldn't move, and my mind screamed 'intangible', which wouldn't work here. I struggled some more, and then, finally, let the energy stream to my hands the way Vlad taught me, focusing everything I had in there, and then letting go.

The ectopus absorbed the blast. Of course it would. I wasn't the only ghost who could fire ectoblasts, if the ectopus were to catch ghosts this way, it would be able to withstand the ghost firing at it from inside its mouth. I fired again, and again, using more energy with each blast, knowing it wouldn't work, but not knowing what else to do. I felt myself go cold, and I was wondering if this was it, if this was ghost death, if there was such a thing. I was dissolving, I could feel the ectoplasm seeping out of me, my protective jumpsuit nearly gone.

Cold.

Something in my mind clicked, and again I reached. This time, I didn't try to form an ecto beam. This time, I concentrated on the cold. I let it seep into my hands, let them glow with it, and I felt a shudder going through the creature. I had it now. I had to control it, I couldn't let it control me... who had said that to me? Struggling, I tried to gather more of the coldness from inside of me, tried to spread it around me, effectively freezing the ectopus. Then, when I thought I had done enough, I let out a massive ectoblast. The ectopus shattered.

I was free. Dazed, half crazy, I looked around at the floating remains of the thing. I had blown it to pieces, but to my horror I saw that the tentacles were still moving, groping aimlessly at things it couldn't see. I turned around and stared straight into a yellow eye, hovering about three feet away from me. It blinked.

I bolted.

Without looking back, I sped off as fast as I could, which turned out to be pretty fast. I found myself swerving around the island, evading floating purple doors and strange green clouds. I only stopped when I remembered I should probably pay attention to where I was going. Drifting quietly, extremely on edge and looking around frantically for any movement, I tried to make out where I was.

The ghost zone was endless. Jazz had told me that too. In fact, there were so many things Jazz had told me that I didn't pay attention to I wondered how I managed to get up in the morning. I turned around and looked behind me. The scenery didn't change at all. Everything looked the same. Islands. Doors. Strange, cloud-like green globs. Huge spirals, like far away star-systems. A huge purple football.

I stared at it. No way.

I approached it wearily, then tentatively pushed it out of the way. A portal, right in front of me. Relief washed over me and I quickly went through it, to find myself in Vlad's lab. And although I was glad to be out of the place, a small part of me already regretted leaving the zone. I looked back longingly at the green swirling, promising myself I'd get back in there some other time, then made a movement to close the door.

"Daniel."

I jumped three feet in the air and swirled around. Vlad was standing at the bottom of the stairs, wearing a blue dressing gown over purple pajamas. His face was expressionless, but the way he had said my name signaled trouble.

"Hi Vlad," I said flippantly, "Just passing through."

He casually raised his hand and shot me with a pink ecto beam, hitting me in the right shoulder.

"Hey!" I shouted, "What was that for?"

"I thought I told you not to drink any alcohol," he said, walking closer.

How had he found that out so quickly? He raised his hand again, but this time I saw it coming and put up a shield. He didn't fire though, but smiled instead.

"Been exploring the ghost zone, have you?" he asked.

"So?"

He shook his head and gestured to the mirror at the far end of his lab. Frowning, I flew to it and looked at myself.

My arms were bare, with deep, jagged marks on them. The protective suit I had been wearing had been eaten away. One glove was gone too, the other had holes in it. There were holes on my chest and on my legs. My boots seemed to be OK.

"Holy crap," I said.

I reached for my human form and let the two rings appear around my waist. After the transformation, I looked again. White t-shirt, jeans, red sneakers. I sighed in relief. My arms were a bit red, and I could feel it itching, but that was all. I was about to turn around to look at Vlad, when he painfully grabbed my arm and slammed me against the wall.

"I don't appreciate being disturbed in the middle of the night," he said.

"Well, then you should have stayed in bed... ouch!" He had slammed me against the wall again.

"There is an alarm on my portal. Ghosts with any sense stay away from my lab. Obviously, you're lacking that particular trait."

No argument there, I suppose. I grunted as he leaned against me, making it hard for me to breathe.

"Do you have any idea how foolish this was? You're a target, Daniel, there are a great number of ghosts that would love to get a shot at you. You've revealed yourself. They'll know you're back now, and you're not ready for them."

I scowled at him. He sighed.

Go home, Daniel," he continued, "I'll decide on what to do with you tomorrow."

Only then did he let go of me, and I stumbled forward, gasping for air. I took my time, leaning my hands on my knees, refusing to look up at my archenemy. Archenemy, who had me completely under control. Somewhere deep inside of me I felt the start of something dark and ugly.

"I hate you," I said.


	15. Lake Eerie

* * *

**LOST**

**Chapter 15: Lake Eerie**

* * *

I skipped. For the first time that week, or ever as far as I knew, I didn't go to class for the sole reason that I didn't want to. Instead, I went to the park and sat down on a bench near the fountain, watching the water sparkle in the sunlight. It was pleasantly quiet there this time of day, everybody was either at work or in school, which meant that I was totally alone. I leaned backwards, one arm on the backpack filled with books and painstakingly made homework, the other on the back of the bench.

I knew I was making a mistake. There was no way they wouldn't notice, no way that they wouldn't inform my parents and Mrs Crown and Vlad. I'd get a huge detention and spoil the free afternoon. I couldn't bring myself to care. School was a waste of time anyway. I had suffered through it the entire week, and I felt I could use a break. I'd go to second period. Or maybe third.

The sound of the fountain made me drowsy. I hadn't slept much the night before, and when I finally got to bed my itching arms had kept me awake. Only now the redness seemed to recede. I scratched my arm. Stupid ectopus. I wondered if it was still out there, floating around in parts, or if it somehow had reassembled itself. I should check on that, I decided. Despite the experience from last night, the zone was still pulling. I'd just have to be more careful. But first, I'd go over all the ghost files on the memory stick with Jazz. We'd have the whole weekend to do that, because Vlad had gone on some business trip. I was looking forward to a Vlad-free weekend.

I listened to the birds in the trees, breathing deeply. The tension eased. The muscles in my neck relaxed. I could almost smile.

A distant car horn brought me back to reality. I jerked up and looked around blearily, then checked the time. I cursed softly. I was missing second period, and if I didn't hurry, I'd be late for third period. Mr Faluca didn't like me and was sure to get on my case, so I got up, grabbed my bag and jogged to the school.

The bell rang the moment I got in, and instantly I was back in the rush between classes, the crowd pushing against me, forcing me to move with them. Someone shouted close to my ear and I got shoved aside against the lockers. I was about to look up angrily when I felt a sudden pain in my lower back. I hissed in pain and automatically my hand went down to clutch my side. Sweat broke out. A voice whispered close to my ear.

"Watch your back, Fentina."

Then he was gone, and I leaned against the lockers until the noise and the rush of people died down. I'd gotten careless. I had been so wrapped up in the different threats in my life, ghosts, the police, Vlad, Terry, that I had forgotten about Dash. Dash I could laugh at, taunt, beat up, but only if I paid attention. I took a couple of deep breaths, trying to force the pain from the blow against my left kidney away. By the time I felt recovered enough, the hallway was empty once more.

Mr Faluca didn't even acknowledge me when I entered his classroom. He had probably given up on me.

I survived the rest of the day by moving about warily, checking my surroundings every step of the way. Dash was ignoring me, so it seemed, but I knew his friends were about and Dash wasn't above a little delegating. It was tiring and annoying and I was starting to think about schemes that would take him off my back permanently. I was very careful not to write those thoughts down in the notebook I kept for Mrs Crown.

Several times, my ghost sense went off. Every time I waited, warily looking outside, trying to gauge the strength and proximity of the ghost by the way my ghost sense reacted, but it was almost impossible. Once, I thought a ghost was in our classroom, the way the temperature suddenly dropped, but it was invisible and I couldn't pinpoint its location. After about five minutes, by which time the whole class, including the teacher, was shivering, it left. It made me very uneasy. The ghosts didn't do anything. They were just there, and then they were gone. They didn't even set off the ghost alarm.

After school, my mother picked me up to drive me to Mrs Crown's office, and instead of letting me out at the entrance of the building, she parked the car and came with me. She looked apprehensive, and I wondered what they had been deciding about me behind my back. I was sure I would find out in a minute, and it wouldn't be good.

"Danny," Mrs Crown said pleasantly, "Please come in. Mrs Fenton?"

We entered the psychiatrist's office, and I sat in my usual place, the comfortable chair in front of her desk. My mother sat down next to me in the other one. My heart started pounding, and I tried not to show my apprehension on my face. I failed.

"There's no need to be nervous, Danny," Mrs Crown said in an overly friendly tone that made me even more nervous. "Your mother and I have, of course, been discussing your progress..."

I interrupted her. "What progress?"

"Indeed," she said, "Danny, we are worried about you. You must understand that. We are trying to act in your best interest."

This was not going well. When people start talking about acting in your best interest, they usually try to force something on you that you don't want. A little bit like Vlad. Thinking about him made me angry again and I scowled at her.

"Now, your mother here told me that you still have problems with staying away from alcohol..."

I jumped up. "I'm clean!" I shouted, "I only drank half a can. I walked away."

"Danny, sit down."

Defiantly, I walked to the window and stared outside. The office was cool. Outside, it was hot. I could see the air shimmer above the traffic on the road, and had to squint every now and then when a ray of sunlight caught a reflecting surface on one of the the cars.

"Danny please," my mother said, sounding both determined and close to tears, "I can't get through to you. You live in your own world of pain and it kills me to see you like that. We just want to help you..."

I turned around. "Oh, so this isn't about me," I said viscously, "It's about you! _You're_ the one who can't deal with it. I'm handling it, OK? Except for that one beer, I haven't drunk anything since... since the other day."

I had taken two steps and was now leaning on Mrs Crown's desk, glaring at both her and my mother. I know I looked threatening. I wasn't sure how I did it, but people backed away from me when I looked like that, and at that moment, I wanted to make it perfectly clear that they shouldn't mess with me. My mother looked stricken, and shot a nervous glance at Mrs Crown, who looked calm and composed. I hadn't shocked her. She was used to me. The temperature in the room dropped.

"Daniel," she said, "Sit."

I glared at her some more, then closed my eyes and tried to calm down. I wanted to hit something. I wanted to stop this. I wanted to be the boy I used to be again. Slowly, I straightened, stiffly walked around the desk and dropped down in my chair again, slouching. I looked away and tried to find the ghost that had seemed to have entered the room.

"How was school?"

She was trying to calm me down. She should have asked a different question.

"OK."

"Where were you first period?"

"In the park."

My mother shot up and opened her mouth to say something, but Mrs Crown raised her hand. She looked at me with that calm face of hers, that face that said 'why don't you talk about it'. Up until now it had always worked. I hated it when she looked at me like that. I started fidgeting and looked down at the carpet. The silence was getting on my nerves. The room got warmer again.

"I just wanted to think," I said.

Silence. Nobody moved. I was still nervously scanning the room. Where had it gone? I licked my lips.

"I was tired. I wasn't doing anything. Just sitting."

The sound of the traffic downstairs was faint. The double glass windows obviously not only kept the heat out, but also the noise. Somebody was talking in the waiting area, a female voice holding a one sided conversation with long pauses. The secretary on the phone. I listened to my breathing for a while, comforted by the fact that I was still doing it.

"I didn't drink anything, if that's what you're implying," I said.

"But it's on your mind," Mrs Crown said.

I swallowed. It was. But I still hadn't given in. Sort of. I looked around the room some more, carefully avoiding both Mrs Crown's and my mother's eyes. If only I could find Sam and Tucker. Mrs Crown took a deep breath, glanced at my mother and seemed to come to a decision.

"Danny," Mrs Crown said, "There's an excellent rehab center just outside of Amity Park. It comes highly recommended. I understand Mr Masters has offered to pay for it, so there's no worries there. I don't think I can help you any longer."

My throat constricted. They shouldn't. They wouldn't. They couldn't lock me up. A whirlpool of emotions welled up in me, anger, naturally, being one of them. Fear. Disappointment. Mirth. I started laughing.

"You can't lock me up," I said, "I won't be locked up."

Mrs Crown kept staring at me, and my mother's face looked strained. I stared directly at her, trying to show her the truth of my statement. I would not let them lock me up. The fact alone that Vlad offered to pay for it made me not want to do it. I wasn't an alcoholic. They shouldn't even be thinking about it.

"I was hoping you'd go voluntarily," Mrs Crown said, "They can help you, Danny, help you resist the temptation, help you cope with your anxieties, your fears, your pain..."

"I don't want to cope with my pain," I said harshly, "I want to find Sam and Tucker. Everything will be alright once I've found them. I won't go voluntarily." I stood up and walked to the door. "This session is over," I said, "I've had enough of you." My hand was on the door handle and I pushed it open somewhat. "Don't mess with me," I said, adding menace to my voice, knowing that it was probably going to make matters worse, but unable to stop myself, "Or face the consequences."

I wasn't sure what I meant by that last statement, and I didn't care. I stepped outside in the waiting room and was faced by the shocked faces of both the secretary and a middle aged man, probably waiting his turn to bare his soul to Mrs Crown. I glared at them, slammed the door behind me and stalked out of the office into the hallway.

Instead of going to the elevators, I ran down to the end of the hallway and entered the staircase. I gasped for a moment when the hot, stale air entered my lungs, and then I transformed, welcoming the cold tingle that washed over me. No longer bothered by the heat I shot out of the building, hovered for a moment and then took off. Not in the direction of my house. I was going to visit a place I should have visited as soon as I learned where me and my friends had disappeared: Lake Eerie.

It took me a long time to get there. Lake Eerie is about ten miles away from Amity Park, a crescent shaped, deep lake surrounded by mountains, woods, and on one side a small village with a camp site and a little harbor for small sail boats. The air would have been sweet and would have smelled like pine trees, if I hadn't been a ghost which didn't have any use for air. To me, the area looked... well... eerie.

There was something about the woods. The lake itself seemed OK, but the trees which loomed over the edges of the lake gave it a secluded, oppressive atmosphere. The water was still, like a mirror, only disturbed every now and then when some fish splattered on the surface. I studied the lake from above, searching the little beach on the edge which Sam had pointed out to her parents. It took me only a moment to find it, as it was the only light colored area in the sea of green that surrounded the lake.

I landed and studied the place. It wasn't much of a beach, but the area was pretty, practically inviting people to come and camp there, to have a swim in the lake and a bonfire on the beach. A happy place. I was sure we hadn't been there, or even had intended to be there. I let my senses wander, taking in the life around me, the vegetation, the birds, the insects. Nothing wrong here.

I lifted off the ground again, and slowly flew over the lake. I looked down at my reflection in the water, the vague black and white form with glowing green eyes. I still wasn't quite used to that. I dropped my hand and touched the surface, causing a ripple in the water which spread out. I watched it go. Then I flew up higher and studied the edges of the lake. Not with my eyes. My eyes were pretty much useless here. The police had searched the area using their eyes. If something visible was to be found here, they would have found it. I was searching for invisible clues.

It took me hours. The woods were strange, here and there friendly and open, but in other places dense and inaccessible. They were haunted. My ghost sense went off as soon as I reached the far end of the lake, where the trees looked old and gnarled and actually seemed to be wanting to take over the lake. The air was humid and warm, and once I moved through the trees they seemed to want to encapsulate me, trap me within the branches. Good thing I had intangibility.

There was ghostly activity there, but nothing I could pin down. It was weak. Like there were ghost mice around or something, but nothing big. There were strange fissures there too, and if I hadn't touched the edge of the natural portal two nights before I wouldn't have known what it was.

Remnants. Old portals. Scars in the boundary, weak spots. No wonder the place was said to be haunted. If there was one place, except a full blown portal, ghosts could escape the ghost zone, it would be here.

I searched the area thoroughly, and still managed to miss it two times, before I finally found it. I was passing an old, overgrown trail for the third time, somehow drawn to it, and I happened to glance sideways just as a rare beam of sunlight from the setting sun caught a reflecting surface. I stopped and hovered backwards, trying to find it again, and I had to stare at it a full minute before I realized what it was.

A car mirror.

Frantically, I started to pull away the vines, the branches, the weeds that were trying to take over the small black convertible. The top was closed, luckily, so the interior looked more or less intact. It was at the side of the road, purposefully parked out of sight, and somehow the woods here were trying to claim the thing as their own. This was it. This had to be Sam's car. We had come here.

Grinning like an idiot, I turned intangible and stuck my head inside the car, noting the various bags standing in the back. I moved in and opened them. Food. Lots of cans, a piece of what seemed to have been cheese, and something green and fluffy that could once have been bread. I wondered why we hadn't taken it with us, and then wondered where we had gone.

We obviously had come here for a reason, and that reason had to have had something to do with all the ghostly activity in this area. I got out of the car and moved up the trail, until it became almost impossible to follow it. I pressed on, and finally arrived at a small stream. I followed it upstream for a bit and arrived at a very pretty waterfall. There, I stopped. The remnants of two small tents were standing on the edge of the stream. It looked like they had flooded at least once, they were too close to the water. Some equipment lay scattered about. I had found the place.

I sat down on a rock and reverted back human, to be able to feel again. The humidity hit me like a brick, but I was glad for the air in my lungs. I wondered if I stayed in ghost form too long, I would forget who I was, forget that it was great to be a living, breathing human being.

I sat there for a while, simply taking in the rustic sound of the waterfall and the quiet, dampened sounds of small animals moving around in the forest. Then I got up and rummaged through the abandoned camp site. I found Tucker's laptop, together with some DVDs. The case with the title 'The Evil in the Woods' was empty. We had watched that one.

I walked around the stream some more, but there was nothing more to be found. I should head back to town, they'd be worried sick by now. The sun was now almost set, and it was probably close to ten o'clock in the evening by now. I felt only marginally guilty about running away like that. After all, they wanted to lock me up in a rehab center. It couldn't get much worse than that.

I was wrong, of course.


	16. Going Down

* * *

**LOST**

**Chapter 16: Going Down**

* * *

It was dark by the time I got back, and I landed in an alley close to my house to transform back into Danny Fenton, before walking the last hundred yards or so to my house. I stuck my hands in my pockets and looked down, thinking about how to tell detective Raskin where to find Sam's car, and that's why I didn't notice the police car parked in front of my house until I was almost on top of it. Even then, I still didn't get it. I ascended the four steps that led to my front door and opened it.

They didn't notice me at first. I just stood there, gaping at all the people standing around or, in my parents' case, sitting on the couch, my father's arm protectively around my mother's shoulders. Two police officers were quietly conversing near the door to the kitchen, and detective Raskin was on the phone, talking to somebody. A dark skinned couple, a man with dark rimmed glasses and a plump woman in a purple dress, were standing near the stairs, close together, seemingly unsure as to what to do. Jazz was sitting on the stairs. She spotted me.

"Danny!" she cried.

Immediately, the room fell silent, and as one, they all turned to look at me. I blinked in surprise. My mother let out a strangled cry, rushed to me and started hugging me so tightly I was starting to choke.

"Maddie," I said, gasping for air, "Can't breathe."

She lessened her grip on me somewhat, and I pushed her away from me. My father had also gotten up from the couch, and Jazz was now standing on the stairs, looking at me intently as if she was trying to warn me.

"Where have you been?" detective Raskin asked.

A seemingly innocent question. Immediately, I was on full alert. The police officers near the kitchen were now watching me warily, as if they expected me to do something. My father looked at me pleadingly, as if willing me to stay friendly. Fat chance. I wasn't going to be interrogated in my own home before I knew what this was about.

"What's it to you?" I asked.

Wrong attitude, of course. He frowned at me. His hostility was almost tangible.

"Just answer the question, boy."

"I don't feel like it," I said, feeling the anger rise.

If he wanted a stubborn, rude teen, he could get one. I forgot I wanted to tell him about Sam's car. He could go to hell. I caught some movement near the stairs and saw Jazz walking towards me, shaking her head. She was about to say something, but Raskin stopped her by raising his hand.

"Daniel Fenton," he said, "I'm asking you one last time. Where have you been the past hours since you left Mrs Crown's office after threatening her."

I had threatened her? Was that what this was about? I thought back at what I had said when I left the room, but I couldn't quite remember. It may have sounded threatening. I was very angry at the time.

"I didn't," I said.

"What?"

"I didn't threaten her."

Raskin sighed and looked at my mother, who looked away. "We have three witnesses that say you did," he said.

The secretary, the client in the waiting room, my mother... wait, three?

"Three?" I asked, "There were four people there..."

"Where were you today between three thirty and...," he looked at his watch, "...ten thirty, Daniel."

My mind was spinning. Something had happened. Something bad. Something I needed an alibi for. I didn't have one. I looked at Jazz for support, but found none there. She just looked at me, doubt in her eyes. Somehow, that hurt.

"I went to lake Eerie," I said.

That surprised them. "What?" my mother asked, "You went all the way over there? By yourself? How..."

Crap. Weak point in my story. I should think things through more thoroughly before opening my mouth. I couldn't very well say I had flown there.

"Um," I said, looking at the ceiling for a moment, "I hitchhiked."

"Don't lie, Daniel," Raskin said.

I looked straight at him. "I. Hitchhiked."

They were all staring at me and I stared back, defiantly. My mother cleared her throat.

"We were worried, Danny," she said, "You just ran out and disappeared into thin air. We looked all over for you. We were afraid you ran away again."

Raskin now looked annoyed, as if the conversation wasn't going the way he wanted.

"Do you have someone to back up your story?" he asked, "Who did you ride with? Did anybody see you there?"

"I don't know. It was just a guy. I didn't ask him his name, and he didn't ask mine. Nobody saw me there." Not Danny _Fenton_, anyway. "Look, are you going to tell me what this is all about?"

Raskin looked tired all of a sudden and stepped back, allowing me to enter the room and close the door behind me. The others relaxed too, now that it seemed I wasn't going to attack or run away. For the umpteenth time I wondered what everybody saw in me. Even Jazz was uneasy. I dropped down on the couch, and the two police officers stationed themselves at the door. I wasn't being arrested. Yet.

"At five past six, Mrs Crown was attacked near her house," Raskin said, "Whoever attacked her wasn't interested in her purse, because he didn't take it with him. You were overheard threatening her hours earlier, and you were missing."

Naturally, they thought it was me. I was the troubled teen, the gang member, the alcoholic. I put some effort in staying calm.

"Didn't she tell you it wasn't me?"

"She's in a coma."

That sucked. I frowned in annoyance and then remembered that I should show some sympathy.

"I'm sorry to hear that," I said impatiently.

I thought some more. Friendly, calm Mrs Crown, listening to my ravings and rants, enduring my anger and frustration, trying to guide me through my messed up life. It wasn't her fault I wouldn't listen to her. It wasn't her fault that I was a rather unique person in an impossible situation. Even if she was annoyingly bend on curing something that was incurable, she didn't deserve this.

"Really," I added.

This time, I meant it. I had been so wrapped up in my own problems that I seemed to forget the sorrow of others. I felt guilty.

The tension in the room eased, and I relaxed my fists, which I unknowingly had clenched. Raskin sat down opposite me and leaned his elbows on his knees. The black couple was still standing near the stairs, looking lost, trying to catch my mother's attention. She was looking at me, however, and seemed to have forgotten that they were there. I decided that this was the appropriate moment to drop my little bomb.

"I found Sam's car."

"What!"

Raskin jumped up and looked at me in disbelief. I couldn't blame him. Hundreds of policemen and volunteers had searched the woods several times, turning up nothing. And then I go there to have a look around and find it all by myself in one afternoon. That ought to hurt. The detective took two steps, grabbed my shirt and hauled me to my feet.

"Where!" he said, his eyes blazing.

I pushed at him and he let go. The black man had grabbed the black woman's hands. I began to have a suspicion as to who they were.

"At the end of the lake, all the way across, on the other side. The haunted forest. It was hidden along the trail, very hard to find. I passed it two times before I saw it. I also found the camp site."

A sob sounded from the direction of the stairs and I turned my head just in time to see the black woman bury her face in the black man's shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her, trying to comfort her. He looked like he himself was about to burst into tears.

"Mr and Mrs Foley?" I asked.

The man nodded.

"I'll find him," I said, trying to put as much conviction in my voice as possible.

"Oh, Danny," my mother said.

She was shaking her head. "What?" I said, "What's the matter? Why is everybody so upset? I mean, this can't be all about Mrs Crown, can it?"

Mr Foley cleared his throat. "We came to ask you... tell you that next Friday..." His voice wavered. "Next Friday, there will be a memorial service for Tucker at the Bethlehem Lutheran Church at three o'clock. That was what we came to tell you tonight, we would have liked you to be there, but now... I'm not sure..."

He glanced at detective Raskin, who was looking at me intently. I felt myself go cold. They were giving up on him. They thought he was dead. I tried to swallow, but my throat was dry. For some reason, the room started swaying. I hardly noticed the hands on my arms, hands that guided me back to the couch, pushing me down, forcing me to lean forward.

"Breathe, Danny."

Jazz's voice, coming from very far away. I stared at the carpet, still stained with burn marks of the previous couch, the one that Skulker destroyed. Just when I thought I was making progress, just when everything seemed to be going my way, they had to come up with this. Tucker wasn't dead. Neither was Sam. I clung to that conviction.

"He's not dead," I whispered.

"Danny..."

"He's not dead!" I shouted.

"How do you know?" Raskin asked.

I looked at him. I didn't like his tone of voice.

"You know," he said, "I think you're full of crap. You threatened Mrs Crown. People saw a boy fleeing the scene, a boy with black hair, wearing jeans and a white t-shirt." He looked pointedly at my jeans and gray t-shirt. "Then you come up with a story that you went to lake Eerie, but you don't have anybody to back up your story. The only thing that should give your story some credibility is that you couldn't have gone all the way to the other side of the lake and still attack Mrs Crown at six."

He stepped closer. "I think you're lying. You didn't go to lake Eerie. You wanted to get back at Mrs Crown because she wanted to put you in a rehab center. You have serious issues, Daniel. I've heard a report about attacking football players at school, a break in in a storage room, threatening teachers..."

"It's not true," I said, desperately looking for a way out, "I couldn't have found Sam's car otherwise..."

"You already knew where it was." He was merciless, his eyes unforgiving. "You've remembered. That's why you've been acting up. You know what happened to Samantha and Tucker, and you're trying to hide it."

I stood up. "No," I said.

I looked at the policemen at the door, keeping a watchful eye on me. Jazz was still nervously hovering beside me, my father was holding my mother. The Foley's looked at me fearfully.

"No," I repeated.

"You're leaving something out," my mother said to Raskin, "The attack on Mrs Crown. Danny Phantom was seen there too. He's a dangerous ghost. It could have been him."

That did it. I looked at Jazz and now understood the doubt in her eyes. The boy that was seen fleeing the scene, that could have been anybody. Danny Phantom, however, was not so easily mistaken for somebody else.

"Jazz," I said, "I wouldn't do that."

The room somehow seemed oppressively warm, and I wiped the sweat off my brow. I looked at the door again. The police officers tensed.

"Daniel Fenton," Raskin said, stepping forward, "You're under arrest for assault. You have the right to remain silent..."

I didn't hear anything more. I don't quite remember what happened. Next thing I knew, I was on the floor, forced down by the two police officers and detective Raskin, who was fumbling with his handcuffs. I was panting, they were cursing. Something cold slid around my wrists, and a click signified the end of my freedom. They hauled me to my feet and let me stand in between them. I looked up at the bewildered faces of my parents.

"Mom," I said, my voice cracking, "Dad... please... I didn't do it."

My mother was crying, holding on to my father for dear life. Through her tears, however, she was also smiling.

"You called me mom," she said.

The police officers pushed me out of the door. Two more police cars had arrived, lighting the street with their flashing lights. People were standing outside their houses, neighbors, watching me being led to one of the police cars, watching me go down.


	17. Inside

* * *

**LOST**

**Chapter 17: Inside**

* * *

The blue van stopped in front of the huge gate, and I tried to peer through the barred windows to see what was outside. Woods in the distance, then a cleared area without vegetation, then a high fence with barbed wire at the top. Then again an empty, corridor like area, followed by another fence just as high as the first one, with more barbed wire. Blocky, one and two story high buildings, forbidding looking, with small windows.

The gate opened and the van rolled forward about twenty feet, then stopped again. The gate behind us closed. The second gate opened. Again, the van rolled forward, this time all the way to the largest building right in front of us. A huge sign depicted what it was: Amity Park Juvenile Correctional Institute. I was in prison.

I didn't remember very well how I had gotten to the police station the night before. My mind had been in a haze. The flashing lights, the car drive, people pulling at my arms, telling me to hand over my watch, my wallet, my belt. It all seemed to be happening to somebody else, I wasn't really there, it was all just a bad dream. A very realistic, horrifying nightmare that I couldn't wake up from. When I had finally come to myself somewhat I was alone, in one of those beige cells, standing in the middle of the room.

I didn't know how long I had been standing there, my arms hanging limp beside my body, staring at the wall that contained all sorts of obscene inscriptions. I hadn't noticed those the last time I was there. I had been preoccupied at the time. And drunk. That too.

A sudden ache shot through me and I doubled over, clutching my stomach. Letting out a groan, I stumbled to one of the cots and sat down on it. I hadn't eaten in a while. But more than something to eat, I wanted something to drink. Preferably something with alcohol in it. The ache spread and I had laid down on the cot, pulling my knees up. Shocks went through my body, but I didn't cry. I wanted to. Eventually, I fell asleep, exhausted.

The back of the van opened, and I squinted at the bright sunlight. The windows of the van were shaded, so I hadn't been able to see the brightness of the afternoon sun outside. It was like they purposefully put me in the dark, cut me off from the light, stressing the fact that my life, my freedom was over. From now on, only darkness.

"Out, kid," the driver said in a bored tone.

He must be doing this every day. Driving young thugs to prison. The fact that I was innocent wouldn't impress him at all. I didn't say anything and simply jumped out of the van, having some difficulty steadying myself because of my cuffed hands. He grabbed my arm and pushed me in the direction of the door. I felt I needed to do something, say something, just to make it clear that I was still me, that I didn't need to be manhandled like a bag of potatoes. I wasn't some number.

"Hands off," I grumbled, "I can walk."

He shrugged. He must hear that every day, too. Real lame thing to say. We walked to what seemed to be the main entrance, a glass door and a guard sitting in a glass cubicle. The driver leaned forward and spoke in the microphone, identifying himself and me. The guard pressed a button, a buzzer sounded and then the doors slid open. We stepped inside. The door closed behind me and suddenly I felt cut off. I shivered.

Another door opened, and now we entered a square hallway with a counter in it. Long hallways led away from it, looking inaccessible because of the heavily barred doors. Another guard approached me and led me away. I looked around, just in time to see the driver step outside again. My throat constricted. Freedom.

I was led to a room with an examination table in it, as well as a small counter with a sink. Several cupboards on the wall, a poster depicting the dangers of smoking, something that looked like a heart monitor on a small table near the door. The bald man, who had been sitting on the single chair in the room, got up and put down his magazine.

"Strip," he said in a bored tone of voice.

The guard positioned himself at the door. I looked at him, then back at the doctor. Slowly, I complied, dropping my clothes on the floor. The guard jerked his head, ordering me to move away from them. Only then did he pick them up. He shoved everything in a blue plastic bag and sealed it. I just stood there, shivering.

Earlier that day, detective Raskin himself had come to get me from the cell at the police station. In the interview room, he again read me my rights, and carefully asked if I understood them.

"Yeah," I said.

"Do you want your lawyer present?"

I thought about Vlad, and his lawyer, Grant. I hadn't thought the guy was of much use, the only thing he did was bicker with Raskin about technicalities. I wanted to talk, tell the detective about Sam's car. Somehow, I had push aside my dislike for the man and convince him I had nothing to do with the assault on Mrs Crown.

"No," I said.

"Suspect waives his right to have his lawyer present," Raskin said for the benefit of the recording device.

I shifted in my chair.

"Now. Daniel." He looked at me, a neutral expression on his face. "Start talking."

So I talked.

After the examination by the doctor, the guard handed me a stack of clothing, consisting of underwear, blue pants with no pockets and a blue polo shirt. I dressed quietly. I got to keep my shoes. Then he took me to another room, where a man sat behind a desk. The guard pressed me into the chair that was standing in front of the desk and we waited. The man was writing something down, his head bend forward, and I had an excellent view on the balding spot on the middle of his head. His hair was gray, cut very short. He looked up and started examining me, scrutinizing my sorry presence with cold gray eyes. I looked back steadily, unflinching.

"Alright," he said, "My name is Waldon. You may call me Mr Waldon, or warden. Either will do."

For some reason, I shivered. He didn't notice.

"You are not here to serve a sentence, you're here awaiting your hearing on Monday. I haven't received the time of your hearing yet, but I'll make sure you're in time. Usually, they do the juvies first, so I'll have you transported to the courthouse in the morning. In the meantime, you may enjoy our hospitality here. We have a recreation room for each block, a canteen and a weight room. The schedule is on the wall in your block. Breakfast is at seven. Lights go out at eleven. Sometime during the morning and the afternoon, you'll get to go outside. Normally, you'd have classes on Monday, but you'll have to skip those. Keep your head down and out of trouble. If you do make trouble, we'll lock you away in solitary confinement. That's all."

He had rattled off the whole speech in a bored tone of voice, as if he had said it many many times. He didn't look too bad though. Just sick and tired of crooks like me. The guard made me stand up again, and without having uttered a word, he pushed me through the door into the hallway. We went back tot he central hallway, all the way across and entered one of the hallways with the barred doors. He waved at the camera mounted on the wall close to the ceiling, opened it, let me go ahead, and then closed it behind us, making sure it was securely locked. I flinched at the rattling of his keys.

"Come on," he said.

The hallway was bare, no doors in it. It ended in a large room, about thirty by forty feet. An old, battered ping-pong table was standing on one end, a brown, stained couch on the other, some tables and chairs, shelves on the wall with old books, probably discards from the library, a TV. Several boys were watching a boxing match on it, shouting and cheering. They were all clad like me, blue pants and blue polo. I could see several tattoos on arms, shaved heads, long hair in a pony tail, black kids, hispanic kids, white kids. Some looked up at me with disinterest in their eyes, most ignored me.

The guard pushed me again, and I walked to the corridor on the other side of the room. We passed steel doors, all open, allowing me a glimpse of the small rooms. He brought me all the way to the end and gestured to the last room on the right.

"You're in here. You're sharing your room with Chris Freeman. Showers are at the beginning of the hallway, on your right. Doors will unlock at six thirty. Your group has the weight room from seven-thirty to eight-thirty in the morning. Privileges like the use of the weight room or going outside will be taken away from you if you misbehave. Good luck."

He walked away and I stepped into the room. Chris obviously had claimed the top bunk for himself. There were posters on the wall next to his pillow of which I was certain Jazz wouldn't approve. I grinned a little, out of discomfort. The guard had given me a blue plastic bag, sealed closed. I opened it to find two spare sets of underwear, a towel, a toothbrush and some toothpaste. I stared at it, and suddenly felt overwhelmed with a feeling of loneliness. I wanted to go home. I wanted my mother. I wanted...

I sat down on the bed and tried to suppress the tears that threatened to spill out of my eyes. Tucker was dead. Sam was dead. Although her parents didn't think so. They still had hope, they refused to admit that four months was a long time to be merely missing. The Foley's, at least, had accepted that their son wouldn't be coming back. The memorial service would be Friday, and most likely, I wouldn't be able to attend, even if they'd want me to. I now was a suspect in his disappearance.

My throat constricted. If I could just remember what happened, why we went camping that day, why that particular place in the woods... It just didn't make sense. I had thought hard and long about it, but it wouldn't come. It wasn't like I thought the memory was there in my head, if only I could reach it. It was more like I knew the memory just wasn't there at all. A blank.

I wrapped my arms around me and rocked back and forth, taking deep breaths to calm myself. I had never been to prison before, but I was pretty sure that if it was anything like high school, it would be a bad idea to show weakness. I couldn't cry. I sniffed.

"Hey," a voice said, "We all cry when we get in here for the first time."

I jumped up and bumped my head against the top bunk. Rubbing my head, I turned to the tall black boy leaning against the door frame.

"Thought you might be in my room," he said.

I straightened. "Hi," I said, "I'm Danny Fenton."

He nodded, but didn't bother to introduce himself, probably figuring the guard already told me. He looked at me appraisingly, then entered the room and punched me against my left arm.

"Hey!" I said, taken aback.

He cocked his head. "Can you fight?"

I swallowed. "What do you mean?"

"What are you in for? Usually they put the violent ones in this block. They like to keep us together for some reason. Can. You. Fight."

My heart started pounding. I shook my head. The fear must have been clear on my face, because he looked at me with barely disguised disgust. Another figure appeared in the doorway, a smaller boy with messy brown hair and green eyes.

"Hey, newbie," he said, grinning and showing his two missing front teeth, "What'd you do?"

"I didn't do anything," I said, nervously glancing from Chis to the brown haired boy, "A woman was attacked, and they think I did it, but it wasn't me."

The brown haired boy laughed, a short, barking sound. He stepped beside Chris, and together they advanced on me. I backed away, until I hit the small wash basin at the other end of the cell. My eyes shot from Chris to the other boy and back, and I was trying to determine which of the two was the most dangerous. I settled on the brown haired boy and tensed, getting ready to launch myself at him. And then he laughed.

"You're alright," he said, turned around and left.

Chris stepped back. I tried to relax, but found it almost impossible. The adrenaline was rushing through me. Weird how, when the fight had seemed unavoidable, I had wanted to. I looked at Chris, who took another step back.

"Alright, OK?" he said, "We just wanted to know. We have a... disagreement... with B block. We need to know if you're gonna back us up or if you're chicken. But I guess..." He swallowed. "I guess you'll be alright."

He turned and practically ran out of there. I turned around blindly, bend over the wash basin and let the cold water run over my face. I was on fire. I needed to cool down. What was happening to me...? I turned off the tap and looked at my dripping face in the mirror. It was the eyes again.

Abruptly, I took my towel and dried my face. Then I left the cell and sauntered to the recreation room. About twenty boys were there, mostly the same boys I had seen earlier. They all fell silent and looked at me. Someone turned off the TV. I took a deep breath and entered the room, walking straight to the brown haired boy who was sitting on one of the tables, surrounded by a couple of tall, muscular looking thugs, the type you wouldn't want to meet in a dark alley at night. Great. Just great.

"Fenton," brown haired boy said happily, "I'm Shade. I call the shots here. You do as I say and we'll get along fine."

A few boys shifted. I saw some looking away, as if trying to stay away from us, to not attract attention to themselves. The hanger-ons, the lowest of the lowest, messenger boys, to be kicked around when you needed to vent frustration. The type I was in school. Other boys, staring directly at me, tense and alert. Followers. They'd jump me when Shade gave the signal. And then the muscle. The body guards. Probably always at his side.

What to do.

If I refused Shade, I'd be a general punching bag, I'd join the ranks of the hanger-ons. It'd be school, except worse. I didn't want to do that. Then there were the followers. I'd have to take orders from Shade. I didn't like that. It'd get me in trouble. The muscle, I could forget, although I could probably deck them with some effort. Or I could be Shade. I'd be a rival. I stared at him coolly, and he must have seen what I was contemplating, because the smile left his face.

"I'm only here until Monday," I said, "Then there will be a hearing, and this whole mess will be cleared up and I'll go home. Can't I just stay out of this?"

Shade looked at me, his face unreadable. I tensed again.

"Dinner is in an hour," he said, "You'll get in line right behind Corkscrew, I'll point him out to you. He hasn't seen you before so he won't immediately know you're with us. Trip him. That'll start a fight. You won't have to do anything else."

They all stared at me. I tried to stay calm, keep my face as impassive as Shade's. I didn't want to do this. But I also wanted to stay alive. 'Keep your head down', the warden had said. I almost laughed. It wasn't funny.

Detective Raskin hadn't been amused either. He had me repeat the whole story twice, and then asked me questions to try and punch a hole in it. I couldn't answer all of his questions of course, so my story sounded vague and hard to believe. My mind was constantly on the report that somebody had seen Danny Phantom near Mrs Crown. Whoever he or she was, had given a very clear description. Me. And then another witness had described a boy that could very well be Danny Fenton. As if I had attacked her being Phantom, then fled as Fenton. I was the only one who knew for certain that it wasn't true.

Then came the message that they had indeed found Sam's car where I said it'd be, and the nature of the questions changed. So how did I get along with my friends. Did I ever quarrel with them. Why had we gone there instead of where we said we'd be. Had that been my idea? What about Sam, did I think she was pretty? Was she really just a friend? Was she pregnant?

That last question made me jump up and lunge at Raskin, at which point he ended the interview. I demanded to see my lawyer, and Mr Grant came about an hour later and gave me a lecture about talking to Raskin without him present. I crossed my arms and scowled at him. Then Raskin came back and said they'd transfer me to the juvenile detention center just outside Amity Park and Mr Grant said he couldn't do anything about it until Monday, at the hearing. So my day had just been great. And now this. I was sick of it.

"Go to hell," I said.

I turned around to leave, and was immediately faced with about ten angry faces, fists raised, glaring at me and shooting glances at Shade. I tried not to look afraid. Funny thing with facing a mob like that. You'd say I'd have no chance at winning, and, well, I wouldn't, but it wasn't as uneven as it seemed. I had one big advantage. Whatever I hit is good. They have to make sure they only hit me. Still, to start a fight here, where I was supposed to live for the next two days... I turned around.

"Alright fine."

This was not going to end well.


	18. Fight

* * *

**LOST**

**Chapter 18: Fight**

* * *

The prison was set up in groups of twenty-five boys each, kept separate from each other except during breakfast, lunch and dinner. At seven AM, twelve thirty and seven PM, the gates that separated the blocks were opened and we were all supposed to go to the canteen. Guards patrolled the corridors to make sure everybody did. This, and he times we were allowed to go outside, were the only times people in different blocks could meet. It was supposed to counter the forming of gangs in the prison, and to reduce the bullying. To me, it seemed that the only thing they had accomplished was that the gangs were now organized by block rather than by race, or age, or criminal past. There were eight blocks. We were G-block.

I entered the canteen right behind Chris, half hidden by his larger frame. I got nudged from behind and I turned to look at Shade. He smiled at me, bend forward and whispered, "He's entering the canteen now, straight ahead. The guy with the swastika tattoo on his forearm."

I looked across the canteen and spotted him immediately. He was about average height, stockily built. His hair was cut very short, military style, and although he was wearing the same outfit as everybody else, he had personalized it by ripping off the sleeves of the polo shirt, showing his muscular upper arms. He entered the canteen together with another boy, also blond, with a scar on his right cheek. The latter looked around when he entered, observing the canteen like he owned the place.

"Why is his name Corkscrew?"

Shade grinned. "He attacked a teacher with a corkscrew. Or so they say. Can't really know for sure."

O yeah, real comforting that was. I quickly stepped away from Shade and mingled with the crowd so I wouldn't been seen with him. I got some odd stares and somebody punched me in the arm when I passed him, but otherwise nobody paid much attention to me. Just as Corkscrew and his friend got in line, I stepped up behind them. It earned me a glare from another boy who apparently thought I was taking his place, but a guard, obviously sensing tension, stepped closer and he backed off.

I grabbed a tray and a plate and patiently awaited my turn. Three boys wearing prison outfit were serving dinner, some sort of macaroni glob with red sauce, supervised by a man wearing a stained white outfit. The cook, presumably. I waited until Corkscrew got his serving and quickly closed in on him. When he stepped away, I put my foot forward, right in front of his. He went down with a crash, and as a bonus managed to land his face in the macaroni that had preceded him on the way down.

A silence fell over the canteen. Corkscrew clambered to his feet and turned around to face me. I couldn't help myself at that point. I was scared shitless, under high pressure from about everybody I knew or had ever met, and looking at his face brought something out I should have kept inside. I laughed.

"You!" Corkscrew growled, "You did that on purpose!"

I tried to suppress my laugh. "No," I said, although it was clear I was lying, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

He wiped some cheese off his face. The boy who had entered the canteen with him grabbed his arm, but he shook it off. He stepped forward and if I had remained where I was, I probably would have been propelled over the counter by his fist. As it was, I dove to the floor and rolled away, bumping into another boy. He stumbled and bumped into his neighbor. And that was when the brawl started.

Suddenly, there was fighting and shouting everywhere, boys punching and pushing each other, using everything they had as a weapon. I tried to stay out of the way, crouching under the counter, wondering if I should risk invisibility to stay out of it. Unfortunately, Corkscrew hadn't forgotten me.

I saw him coming at me and scrambled away, dodging blows from other people, trying to make it to the other side of the canteen. He grabbed me when I was about halfway there and swirled me around. Before I could dodge, he slammed his fist against the side of my head and I went down. Someone kicked me and I rolled again, then got up on my hands and knees and, without looking, swept my legs behind me. I hit something or someone, and proceeded to crawl under a table. Before I was completely there, someone grabbed my leg and pulled me back.

I slid over the floor, my hands flaying around me to try and grab a hold of something to stop the movement, but I only managed to hit my head against some overturned chairs. With some difficulty, I turned as I was being dragged and found Corkscrew grinning at me. As he only held my left leg, I still had my right to do damage, so I did. I hit him a couple of times, and he let go. I jumped to my feet. We stared at each other, breathing heavily. Around us, the brawl continued, a blur of boys, kicking and punching each other and trying to destroy the place, but somehow the fight around us no longer existed. Vaguely, I heard shouts and whistles, and uniformed men hacking their way through the mob, but to us, they didn't matter.

Corkscrew brought his fists up to his head like a boxer, turning his body sideways as to make a smaller target. I just stood there, tense, ready to move, balancing on the balls of my feet. He suddenly advanced on me and punched me in the face like I had expected him to, and I moved my head backwards with his fist. It hurt, but I now had him. He temporarily overbalanced, showing that he wasn't a real boxer and I made use of that. While he was hitting me, I was already swinging my arms in the direction of his neck, hitting him there and forcing his head to bob forward. Then I brought up my knee and hit him square in the groin before he could move away. He went white. I hit him again on his head, and without a word he crashed down towards the floor. For good measure I kicked him again in the ribs, hard, so he landed a couple of feet away from me.

Silence. Shade was looking at me, a half smile on his face. Then his gaze shifted to something behind me and I made to turn, but before I could do that hands grabbed my arms and twisted them painfully behind me, in an all too familiar way. The guard shouted in my ears and jerked at my arms. I grunted in pain and reflexively kicked backwards against his shins. He cursed and then another guard hit me in the stomach. That silenced me.

"Stay still," he said.

There were more guards, pushing the crowd back ordering everybody to their own quarters. Several boys were standing against the wall, facing it, their hands high above their heads in an uncomfortable looking position. The guard who held me pushed me towards them and ordered me to do the same.

The canteen was a mess. Tables were overturned, chairs were broken, food was everywhere, making the floor slippery. I sighed. We would probably have to clean it up by way of punishment. Corkscrew was still on the floor, laying very still. I hoped I hadn't killed him, but I didn't think so. He had a thick skull. Then my attention was drawn to the other side of the canteen, where several guards were standing, looking at something on the ground. Something that required medical attention. I could just make out the doctor's bald head.

The warden entered, approached the doctor and spoke to him briefly. Then he walked over to us, carefully picking his way through the mess. I was looking at all this from the corner of my eyes, as I was still facing the wall.

"Well?" Waldon said.

Somebody poked me with a nightstick.

"He started it," the guard who had grabbed me said.

"What?" I wanted to turn around but he hit me on the arm, so I stopped. "It was an accident. The guy tripped, and he blamed me. I had nothing to do with it."

Waldon stepped closer and examined me. "I thought I told you to keep your head down," he said.

He nodded at a guard, who grabbed my arms and turned me around. He pushed me all the way to the still unconscious Corkscrew.

"Did you do this?" Waldon asked.

"Well, yeah, but he attacked me."

Waldon shrugged and nodded to the guard again, who pushed me towards the group of guards that were standing around the doctor, who was busy with a boy laying on the floor in a large pool of blood. The source of that blood was obviously his chest, out of which stuck what looked like an ordinary kitchen knife. It was the boy who had entered the canteen together with Corkscrew, the one who had looked around like he owned the place. I felt myself go cold.

"I don't know anything about that," I said, "I wasn't even near him. I don't know him. I wouldn't..."

"Shut up," Waldon said. He turned and nodded to the boys still standing against the wall. "Have them clean this mess up. As for him..." He turned back to me, "Put him in one of the rooms. Congratulations, boy, you've just set a new record."


	19. Whispers

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**LOST**

**Chapter 19: Whispers**

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At first, I had been fine. Sort of. I just sat down on the floor, my back against the wall, and stared into space. The room was about eight feet long and wide and probably soundproof, because I didn't hear a thing. There was no furniture, other than a steel toilet in the corner. Light came from a lamp in the ceiling, which had bars across it so it couldn't be reached. No window. No way to tell time. I pulled up my knees and hugged them.

I had planned to sneak away at night and find my way back to Amity Park, to Jazz, to explain to her that whatever ghost people saw near Mrs Crown, it wasn't me. I couldn't do that now. I couldn't hide in here, couldn't pretend to be in my bed, using a rolled up towel as a fake me and then simply walk through the door. There was no bed here, and in the corner a small lens indicated a camera. I was being watched. I couldn't even take a stroll outside.

I put my head on my knees and closed my eyes. I had no idea how much time had passed. My stomach grumbled. I hadn't eaten since breakfast, and the day before I hadn't eaten much either. The side of my face that Corkscrew hit ached, and my lip was swollen where he'd hit me the second time. It had bled on my shirt. I didn't care.

After a while, the silence got on my nerves. I wasn't used to silence. Not this kind, anyway. There was always sound around me, even at night, if I strained my ears, there was always something to hear. A car in the distance. The wind. An airplane. Here, there was nothing. Only the sound of my breathing.

I clapped my hands, and it sounded unnaturally loud in the small room. I didn't do it again. Instead, I pushed myself in a corner and hugged my knees again.

I could just escape.

The easiest thing in the world. No prison could hold me, unless they put a ghost shield around it. They hadn't here, I'd have known. I can pass through ghost shields easily in human form, but I do notice them. But then where would I be. I'd be on the run, I'd have to hide for the rest of my life. I'd be a ghost whether I wanted to or not.

I thought about the ghost zone. How welcoming it had felt. How dangerous it was, even more so for humans. How was I supposed to find my friends if I was here in prison? Maybe it wasn't a question of me forever being on the run, maybe I should indeed get out of here and start searching for my friends for real. Only I had no idea where to start. The ghost zone, as Jazz and Vlad both had tried to get through my thick skull, was endless. I needed a plan. I closed my eyes.

_Danny..._

My head shot up. Silence. I could have sworn... I wiped the sweat that had suddenly appeared off my brow. I pushed myself further in the corner. It really was a small room I was in. The floor was uncomfortable. I glanced up at the camera in the corner. Were they watching me?

The room darkened. Whispers sounded in my ears. I shook my head, and it was gone. The room was bright as ever. I rubbed my gritty eyes and then buried my head in my knees.

_Danny, are you alright, Danny..._

_Up punk, up! On your feet!_

_Talk to me Danny..._

_Try again! You've done it before! Stop being such a useless brat!_

My hands started tingling, I couldn't feel my feet. Darkness enclosed me, there was nothing but me and the concrete floor and the voices that were whispering. I couldn't look up, I had to stay in my corner, curled into a ball, motionless. I heard my gasps and on some level I realized I was hyperventilating.

_Wake up, Danny, wake up!_

_Danny, can you hear me..._

It would be better to just let go, I thought, to let my mind slip away, to give in...


	20. Out of the Frying Pan

A/N: Have I truly acknowledged how much I appreciate the reviews I'm getting? You guys rock!

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**LOST**

**Chapter 20: Out of the Frying Pan...**

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They got me out on Monday morning at six thirty, made me take a shower and provided me with clean clothes. My own clothes. Apparently, my parents had come by the previous day and dropped them off. Then they pushed me to the canteen and placed me right at the front of the row for the counter, earning me dark looks from everybody behind me. I picked up some toast and some coffee and then sat down at one of the tables by myself.

After the silence of the past thirty-six hours, the noise in the canteen was deafening. It was like being assaulted from all sides, shouts, the scraping of chairs, the clanking of plates and cutlery. It was still better than the whispers though. I sipped my coffee and looked around wearily, trying to find G-block. I needed a word with Shade.

He entered the canteen from the other side, closely followed by his two body guards. I now understood why he needed them. Corkscrew had been a body guard too, the body guard of the boy with the scar on his face. I had distracted him. One of Shade's followers had stabbed the boy. I wondered if he was still alive, or that I now was an accessory to murder. Shade spotted me and crossed the canteen to sit opposite me. The two body guards sat down beside him, one facing me, the other one with his back to me, watching the other boys. Their faces looked oddly similar, expressionless, a blank look in their eyes. For some reason, I had difficulty telling them apart, even though one of them was white, with short blond hair and the other one was hispanic, his long black hair in pony tail.

"You look like shit," Shade said.

I did. I had caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror when I was taking a shower. The left side of my face was one big black bruise. My lip was split, although the swelling had gone down. Dark circles under my eyes caused by the lack of sleep. Every time I had closed my eyes the same nightmare repeated itself over and over, a dark room, whispers, the feeling of a menacing presence.

"Thanks a lot, Shade," I said.

We were joined by other members of G-block. Three of them carried an extra plate, and provided Shade and his body guards with bread and coffee. Chris sat down beside me and smiled at me, until he caught the look on my face.

"His name is Simms," Shade said, "He isn't dead, if that's what you're thinking. I needed him out of the way. Everything worked out wonderfully. Chris even managed to get to his stash."

"His stash?"

Chris grinned nervously. "Coke," he whispered, "Simms had it hidden in his cell. He deals the stuff. Shade's been trying to take over for a while now. All the guards were in the canteen, I managed to slip away into B block. It was easy."

I stared down at my empty cup. I needed more coffee. I was just about to get up to get some, when a heavy hand landed on my shoulder.

"Time's up," the guard said, "Daniel Fenton. Come with me. You're being transported to the courthouse."

I got up and let myself be guided out of the canteen. At the door, I looked back. Shade waved at me.

"See ya later!" he shouted.

No way. Whatever happened, I was sure I wouldn't be back here. Surely, at the hearing, the judge would let me go home, set bail or something. Vlad would pay. He was an important man, the former mayor of Amity Park. That ought to count for something.

They drove me back to Amity Park through the rush hour, so it took over an hour to get there. The courthouse was an old, nineteenth century building that was bursting at the seems. There was a constant rush of people, lawyers, police officers, guards, judges going up and down the hallways, in and out of the different courtrooms, or conversing in the middle of the grand staircase in the entrance hall, effectively blocking it so we had to squeeze past them. The guard that escorted me grumbled a remark in passing, clearly meant to be heard by the men blocking the way, but they ignored him. He put me in a room with a barred window and a wooden bench and closed the door behind him without a word. I sat down on the bench and leaned my head against the wall. More waiting. The sun shone through the window, lighting up the dust particles that floated in the middle of the room. It got warmer.

Suddenly the door opened, and Mr Grant stepped in. He paused at the door to look at me and raised his eyebrows.

"Have you been fighting?" he asked.

As if it wasn't obvious. I didn't say anything.

"This is not good," he said, stepping further into the room and closing the door behind him, "If we're going to convince the judge to release you, that you're not a menace to society, you should make a good impression. Fighting is not making a good impression, Daniel."

I scowled at him. It wasn't like I'd had any choice in the mater. Mr Grant sat down beside me and pulled out some papers from his bag.

"Mr Masters is prepared to pay bail, whatever the amount is," he said, "He will also personally vouch for your good behavior, it that's what it takes. He'll take you in."

I jumped up. "What? No!"

Mr Grant frowned at me. "It's very generous of him, Daniel. He doesn't have to do that."

"I want to be with my parents."

"Your parents haven't shown much ability to control you. You'll stand a better chance at being released if you're placed in Mr Masters's care."

The room seemed to be a lot smaller all of a sudden. This wasn't happening. Vlad would get total control over me. Worst of all, I wouldn't be able to slip away and try to find my friends. With a thud, I sat down again and leaned forward, my elbows on my knees, my head hanging.

"I don't want to live with Vlad," I said.

Mr Grant frowned. "Don't be ridiculous, Daniel," he said, "You're in a bad enough situation as it is. Don't make it harder on yourself."

He looked at the papers in his hands. I stared at the ground. Prison or Vlad. I actually preferred the prison.

"What are my chances?" I asked, "What about that witness who saw some boy running away? Did they show her my picture? Didn't she tell them it wasn't me?"

"No." Grant shook his head. "She is very nearsighted. She could only tell it was a black haired boy wearing blue jeans and a white t-shirt."

"Could be anybody then."

"Right. If only you hadn't threatened Mrs Crown that day, and hadn't beaten up that football player earlier in the week, we would have been fine. As it is, the judge is very likely to detain you in prison, rather than to set bail. Cross your fingers, boy. I'll do my best."

He looked at his watch.

"Half an hour. I'll leave now. There are some people who want to see you."

He walked to the door and knocked. Someone opened it from the outside and Grant stepped out. My parents and Jazz entered. I just sat there, frozen. I was so happy to see them and so scared that they would turn me away that I couldn't move. They looked back at me, and I could see their expressions change from anxiousness to horror when they saw my bruised appearance. My mother recovered first. She rushed forward and hugged me.

"Danny," she said hoarsely, "My beautiful baby boy... what did they do to you?"

I couldn't answer. I just clung to her and buried my face in her shoulder. Someone moved to the other side of me, and I felt my father's large hand on my shoulders. None of us made any sound, although I was trembling with the effort not to cry. I couldn't afford to enter the court room with red rimmed eyes.

"How touching."

I tore myself loose and jumped up, raising my fists. Right behind my father, Vlad had entered. Jazz was scowling at him, but it was nothing compared to the look I was giving him.

"Tut tut," he said, "This attitude is not going to convince the judge to release you, you know."

"I'm not going to live with you," I said venomously.

"You don't have anything to say about it," Vlad said, "Really, Daniel. You get yourself in a mess and every time I have to bail you out. Some gratitude is in order, I'd say."

"I didn't do it!" I yelled, "You know I didn't!"

"No. I. Don't." He glared at me. "You're a loose cannon, Daniel. You need discipline. Guidance. A strong role model."

He looked pointedly at my father, who looked down at his shoes. I couldn't bear it. My father might be foolish, loud, an embarrassment, but he was still my father.

"Dad..." I started.

My father shook his head. "He's right, Danny. I'm not much of a role model. Maybe it's better if you went to live with him for a while. Less stressful. No ghosts. More structure. Less... embarrassment."

My throat constricted.

"No," I said, "You're the best father there is. I don't want anybody else. _You're_ my father." I turned to Vlad. "I'd rather go back to that prison than live with you!"

The billionaire's eyes flashed red for a second. He stepped closer and leaned forward, bringing his mouth close to my ears.

"You'll do as I say. You'll do nothing to let the judge think she should put you back in prison. You'll help Mr Grant convince her that you'll behave while in my care. Remember what I have on you."

He had spoken in soft tone of voice, and none of the others had heard what he said. I felt the blood drain out of my face, but kept staring straight ahead. The tension in the room was almost unbearable. It wasn't so much that I feared going to prison for that robbery, although I would rather not. It was the fact that I'd lose my parents' and Jazz's love in the process. Somehow, through all the trouble I was giving them, they stood by me, convinced that I was innocent. That'd change. I was sure of it.

"Can't I at least see them?" I whispered.

Jazz stared at me in disbelief.

"Of course, little badger," Vlad said jovially, and then, in a low murmur, "If you behave."

The door opened, and a security guard entered. "Daniel Fenton," she said, "Please follow me. Judge Carrington."

I followed her out of the room and and looked back at my parents and Vlad, who were directed to the public area of the court room. I was joined by Mr Grant, and together we entered.

It was strange, not what I had expected. Well, there was the public area, fenced off, and the elevated desk where the judge sat, but there was no place for me to sit. On the other side of the room I saw someone being led away, a boy around my age, his hands cuffed. I just stood in front of the judge, a blond, middle aged woman who was reading something in front of her.

"What have we here?" she asked.

A youngish looking man standing close to her, wearing an immaculate black suit that made me wonder if he had to attend a funeral later, his black hair combed back and held into place with what looked like an entire jar of styling gel, flipped a page in his notebook and stared at it. This, I presumed, was the prosecutor.

"Fenton, Daniel," he said, "Assault. Gabriela Crown, aged forty-six. She was his psychiatrist."

"Was?"

"She's in a coma."

"Aha," judge Carrington said, "What else?"

"Suspect was overheard threatening her earlier. It appears she was planning to have him submitted to an alcohol rehab center. A boy whose description fits him was seen running away from the scene."

"That's all?" Carrington asked, "That's hardly enough to detain him." For the first time, she looked at me, studying my face.

The prosecutor flipped another page. "The state requests no bail. Suspect has run away before, he knows how to survive on the street. He has a previous arrest for vandalism two weeks ago. He resisted arrest and he has an alcohol problem."

The judge was looking at me, frowning. Then, she turned to Mr Grant. "What do you have to say?" she asked him brusquely.

"Your honor," he said, "Daniel Fenton recently experienced severe trauma. He has lost his memory, and his friends are missing. He is no danger to society. We request bail. Mr Masters will personally vouch for his behavior."

The judge raised her eyebrows at that, and looked up to search the people in the public area.

"Mr Masters?" she asked, spotting him.

Vlad stood up.

"Your honor," he said, "I've taken a personal interest in this boy, and I think I'm able to provide a stable environment for him. His parents love him, but right now he has special needs. I can provide him with the best care money can buy."

The judge frowned. "You're offering to take him in?"

"Yes, your honor."

"This is unusual." She turned to the prosecutor. "How do you feel about that?"

The man shook his head, an annoyed expression on his face. "I would strongly advice against it. He has a violent nature. There is a report from a football player at his school who got beat up by him..."

The judge snorted. "That scrawny kid? Beating up a football player?"

"... and Derek Waldon, the warden at the juvenile detention center..."

"I know who he is."

"... reported that he set a new record for being put in solitary confinement. He is stronger than he looks. He beat another boy unconscious."

"Really," judge Carrington said. She studied my face again. "Looks like he didn't come out of it unscratched either." She searched the audience again. "Parents?"

My parents stood up and the judge scowled at them. I felt myself starting to get angry. She was about to make a judgment on my parents, was about to declare them unfit. I could see it in her eyes.

"We love our son," my mother just said.

"Hm," the judge said, "But he has problems. Maybe another environment will keep him in line. Mr Masters, you have custody. He stays at your house. Make sure he goes to school. Bail is set at twenty-five thousand. You'll be informed when the trial will take place. Next!"

That was it. I was out. A little dazed, I followed Mr Grant out of the courtroom. Just as I stepped through the door, I heard the prosecutor start reading out the next case.

The space outside the courtroom was crowded, and we all sort of huddled together in a corner at the end of the corridor. Vlad, Mr Grant and my parents were talking. I turned to my sister.

"Jazz, it wasn't me, I swear."

She had to understand. She had to believe me. I didn't know what I'd do if she rejected me. It'd destroy me. I was just about to start pleading with her, trying to find words that would convince her when she silenced me by placing her finger on her lips. She dragged me to the side.

"I know, Danny," she whispered, and a wave of relief flushed over me. "I remembered something, something that happened about a year ago. There was a ghost that could shape shift, and he mimicked you. He was a prankster, he liked to play tricks on people."

"This was hardly a trick," I said, "What's his name?"

"You've already read about him. His name is Amorpho."

I remembered quickly glancing over his file. The information in the database was extensive, we had painstakingly recorded every bit of information about every ghost we had ever encountered. There was just too much of it. Pictures, short pieces of film, reports describing what had transpired, who had done what and even who the witnesses had been. I hadn't read it all. It'd take weeks.

"I should pay him a visit," I said.

"_We_ should pay him a visit. Don't go off by yourself all the time, Danny, it's irresponsible and it scares me."

"I can take care of myself."

"I can see that."

She gingerly touched the bruise on my face and I winced. She did have a point there. I turned around to look at my parents, who were still talking to Vlad and a rather smug looking Mr Grant. My mother grabbed Vlad's hands and leaned forward. I felt sick.

"Danny," Jazz said, "Why didn't you fight? Why did you agree to live with that... fruit loop?"

I didn't want to answer her, so I looked at the ground. I remembered the doubt in her eyes that Friday night, when it had seemed I had attacked Mrs Crown. I didn't think I could go through that again. She had to trust me. She could never know.

"They'd sent be back to that prison otherwise," I said, "I can't handle that."

I could have handled it fine compared to living with Vlad, but I didn't say that. Jazz fidgeted and looked at my face again.

"What happened?" she asked.

"You heard them," I said sourly, "I got in a fight."

I started to pull away from her, but she grabbed my hands and forced me to look at her. It was warm in the hallway, much more so than in the courtroom, and I was sweating.

"Just," she said, "Just don't give up, OK? We'll get over this. They can't prove it was you if you weren't there."

"Jazz, they also think I had something to do with Sam and Tucker's..."

I couldn't say it. I had wanted to say 'death'.

"Why? You didn't have anything to do with that! They should know that! You're as much a victim in that case as they are!"

"It was all those questions Raskin asked. They suggested... What if I did, Jazz? What if it was my fault? I'd deserve to be put in prison..."

"Don't even think like that! You'd never willingly hurt your friends! You've always protected them even at the risk of your own safety, your own life!"

I wanted to believe her. I wanted to stay with her, I needed her strength, her determination, her total belief in me. I squeezed her hands, trying to control the sudden wave of emotions that rushed through me.

"Daniel."

I looked up at Vlad's stern face and my spirits dropped again. He smiled jovially and put his arm around my shoulders.

"Come, my boy. Let's go home."

The image of my strange house with the huge ops center on top of it, and the annoying, glaring neon sign that drove the neighbors mad and which had been cause for at least two lawsuits – won by my parents – flashed in my mind. The quiet street. The backyard with the shed filled with stuff my mother had made my father throw away, but which he never did. My room with the blue walls, looking out in the alley next to our house. Vlad must have felt me tense, because suddenly his fingers clawed into my upper arm.

The image shattered.

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_See? That's what I mean when I say stories run away from me. Vlad was not supposed to be there. Danny was not supposed to go live with him. He just wedged his way in there and took over. He really is an evil, evil man._


	21. Into the Fire

A/N: Um... hi?

OK, I feel bad for not updating for so long, and to tell you the truth I still didn't want to upload it, because I'm in the process of writing chapter 22. Or at least, I should be. Things are slowing down at the moment because I've been catching up on some sleep, and I've been writing another story (yes, DP, will be up when I've actually finished it).

So anyway, here it is, there might be changes to it when I discover I should have put something in here that I need in a later chapter, but I don't think so. No promises as to when the next chapter will be out.

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**LOST**

**Chapter 21: ...Into the fire.**

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Vlad didn't leave me out of his sight. We went to my house first to gather some clothes and my school stuff, and he graciously allowed me to say goodbye to my parents and Jazz. My father hugged me so tightly that I started choking, but I didn't say anything about it this time. Jazz was just shaking her head and my mother tried to make the best of it.

"Don't worry, sweetie," she said, "I'm sure, when all this is cleared up, you can come home again."

I didn't say anything. Vlad, however, couldn't resist.

"You can come visit him any time you want, my dear," he said gallantly, "In fact, if you want to be close to him all the time, there is plenty of room in my house. I have very nice guest bedrooms..."

"No," Maddie said coolly, shooting me an apologetic look, "Jack and Jazz need me too. I'll come visit, Danny, if that's alright?"

I grinned at her and nodded. "Don't worry, mom," I said, "I'll be fine." At least she wasn't fooled by him.

Jazz stepped in, her face carefully impassive, but her eyes mistrusting. She had made it clear she didn't like me living with Vlad, and was very suspicious of it. I thought I had managed to convince her that it was my fear of going to prison that let me to it – which in fact, it was, just not for the crime she thought it was – but I wasn't sure.

"He'll need help with his homework," she stated.

"Why, of course, Jasmine," Vlad said, "You can come over to my house tomorrow. I will send the limo. What time do you get home? Or do you prefer me to pick you up at college?"

"No thank you. I'll drive myself."

"Good, good. Don't worry, you won't have to do this for long. I'll get him a professional tutor, but it takes time to find a good one. Until then, your help will be most appreciated."

He grabbed my arm and started steering me to the door. I didn't resist, but did look back at her, trying to put some kind of warning in my eyes for her to leave it alone. She frowned at me, but stayed silent. Vlad pushed me all the way to his limo and made me enter ahead of him. He half turned, waved and then we were gone.

"What do you mean, you'll get me a tutor," I said as soon as the car door was closed, "This arrangement is temporary! I'm not gonna live with you forever! There's no need to get me a tutor, Jazz can help me!"

Vlad arched an eyebrow and smirked at me.

"My dear boy," he said, "I'm not going to let that feisty red head corrupt your impressionable mind. You're staying with me, whether you like it or not."

"You can't make me."

"Yes. I. Can."

With an angry thud, he closed the screen that separated us from the driver, so the man couldn't see us. Then, he transformed into Plasmius, and the sensation of the black rings touching my leg sent shivers up my spine. It felt different from my own transformation, like a darkness cutting through me, not the light, cold feeling, but somehow black and burning. I felt tainted.

As soon as the transformation was compete, he split up, and now I was faced with two Vlads. I moved backward in my seat and reached for my own ghost form. Too late.

Suddenly, one of the Vlads turned intangible and flew right at me, entering my body. I opened my mouth to scream, but no sound came out. I felt his presence, struggling for control and tried to fight back, pushing at the ghost inside of me with all my might. Slowly, I felt myself losing control. My hands and feet were the first to go, and I felt myself sit up straight. My head bend forward and I raised my hands... only I didn't do that. I wanted to scream again, but my voice refused to respond.

Instead, I said, "Interesting. You can still hear me. Very good, Daniel, not many people are aware of the fact that they are being overshadowed."

My voice. Vlad talking. The panic grew. He had taken over my body, he could make me do anything. I/He turned my head and looked at the other Vlad sitting opposite me. He had transformed back into Vlad Masters and was looking at me with an amused expression on his face.

"You didn't know it was possible, did you," Vlad number one said to me, "How do you think I acquired most of my wealth, Daniel? I can make people do anything. Including you. Or the judge. Or, if necessary, a complete jury, although that would require some effort and would seriously weaken me."

My hand moved forward, opened a small hatch and took out a pocket knife. I opened it and brought it close to my face, so I could inspect it's sharp edge. Then, I brought the knife down to my arm and quickly made an shallow incision on my left wrist. I felt the pain, but I couldn't do anything about it. I just watched in terror.

"I'm stronger than you, even at half strength," Vlad number two said with my voice, "The troubled teen. Depressed. Couldn't take the pressure anymore. So many youngsters start cutting themselves nowadays. Nobody understands why. It's the parents' fault, they say, they give their children too much freedom. Children can't handle freedom. They start drinking too much, become abusive, criminal, and finally start to self-destruct. They won't let you go home, Daniel."

He allowed me to stare at the blood trickling out of the wound onto my jeans. He kept a firm grip on me all the way to his house, and then had me pick up my bag and carry it into the house, up the grand staircase all the way to what was to be my room. He showed me around, the four poster bed, the desk with the computer and the bathroom. Once there, he released his grip on me, and the duplicate Vlad rejoined the original standing next to me. I staggered backwards against the wall and slid to the floor, holding my injured wrist.

"You'd better put something on that," Vlad said, throwing a roll of bandages at me.

With shaking fingers, I tried to pry it loose, groaning and cursing the entire time. Vlad left. I finally managed to get it loose and wrapped some of it around my still bleeding wrist. The cut wasn't deep, but it hurt. I got up with some difficulty and steadied myself against the wash basin. The mirror showed a terrified, pale face I hardly recognized as my own. I let out a scream and punched the mirror, shattering it. Then I proceeded to throw everything that was on the shelf under the mirror – soap, a toothbrush, a beaker – on the floor. That was basically all I could to in the bathroom.

I stalked back into my bedroom and kicked the computer off the desk. The books on the shelves were next, I blasted them and they started smoking. Then the lamps, and they exploded in a satisfying fountain of sparks. I looked at the bed. For some reason, I opened my mouth and screamed at it, a short, powerful burst. The bed shattered. Stunned, I stepped backwards, looking at what I had just accomplished. I had destroyed the bed by screaming at it. Way cool.

The door bust open. I swirled and tried to put up a shield for the pink ecto ray that was directed at me, but I have trouble with that in human form, so it wasn't very strong. The ecto ray penetrated it easily and I flew across the room against the wall. Dazed, but not quite unconscious yet I ducked and evaded Plasmius' fist. Now, I thought, would be a good time to transform.

I rolled away from him and reached for my ghost form, trying to transform as quickly as possible. The two rings appeared in a bright flash and washed over me as I kept rolling. I put up another shield, stronger this time, and managed to hold off two more blasts from the enraged billionaire. Then I let out a blast of my own, and to my great satisfaction managed to hit him square in the chest.

"Daniel!" he shouted at me, "Stop that this instant!"

"No!" I yelled, trying to control the anger and the hatred that always seem stronger when I'm in ghost form, "I hate you, you controlling, egocentric, maniacal fruit loop!"

He blasted me again and this time he hit. Then, he suddenly disappeared. I hovered for a moment in surprise, and then went after him. I was no longer thinking straight. Thoughts tumbled around in my mind, and I couldn't concentrate on anything for longer than a few seconds. Most of my thoughts, however, involved a painful death for a certain billionaire fruit loop, so I set out to find him.

Unfortunately, he found me first.

Out of the blue he appeared, and before I could react, he held something against my body and pressed a button. A sharp pain shot through me, and before I knew it I felt my ghost form literally drain away from me. The white rings appeared and I landed on the floor on my hands and knees at the top of the stairs, gasping. Vlad landed next to me and also transformed back to his human form, although in his case, human is but a manner of speech.

"This is called the Plasmius Maximus. It deprives you of your ghost powers for three hours. You're helpless now." He was panting, his face contorted in rage. "You'll get another shot of this before it wears off. You'll wish you were back in prison before the end."

I was already wishing that. I'd take Shade and his shady friends any time over Vlad. With some effort, I pulled myself up on the banister and turned around to look at my nemesis. He was holding something that looked like a tazer. That must be the device. I studied it. He saw me looking and clutched it tighter.

"This won't leave my side," he said.

He straightened. "Go to your room. You destroyed it. Fine. Now live with it." He leaned forward, his cold blue eyes unforgiving. "Remember what I can do to you."

I stared down at my wrist. Desperation settled over me. I was trapped. I tried to reach for my ghost form, but it wasn't there. As terrifying as it had been before, now that it was gone, I felt empty, incomplete. My ghost form was part of me. Take that away, and all you have left is a scared, helpless boy. I stared down the stairs, the opulent hallway with all the Packers memorabilia, the many doors leading to his library, the dining room, the living room and what have you, and of course the front door. My stomach grumbled. I hadn't eaten anything since seven that morning.

"Daniel," Vlad said, sounding a little bit more composed, "Go to the kitchen and have the cook fix you a sandwich. Then go to your room and start doing the assignments Mr Lancer was kind enough to send me for you. I expect you to be done at dinner time. After dinner, we'll continue your training."

I heard his words, but they hardly registered. I kept staring at the front door. For some reason, it seemed to move further away from me, the bright light that came from the two fake stained glass windows beside it growing darker. There was no escaping this. I noticed I was gripping the banister tightly, my knuckles going white. In fact, my whole body was tense and it took some effort to get moving.

I went to the kitchen and the cook, a thin man called Gascoigne with dark hair and a mustache, speaking with a fake French accent fixed me a sandwich. I ate it listlessly. I'm sure it must have been delicious, Vlad would only hire the best after all, but to me it tasted like cardboard. Then I went up to my room, viewed the mess for a while and then put the desk upright. The computer monitor was broken, the computer itself didn't look too good either. I opened a window to let out the smoke from the burnt books. I sat down at the desk, and spent the few hours that I had until dinner staring at the note with the assignments from Mr Lancer. I didn't touch a single book.

Dinner was an uncomfortable affair. We sat together at the end of the huge table that could have easily sat twenty, Vlad at the head of the table and me to his right. The room had wood paneling along the walls and heavy drapes at the windows, currently open so we could look out on the meticulously kept lawn. The huge marble fireplace in the middle of the room was supposed to give it a Victorian outlook, but I knew for a fact that this neighborhood and thus also this house was built a mere five years ago. I had watched more of those old videos my mom had stored in the box, and on one of them Tucker and I had been sneaking around in the construction site for this neighborhood. There had been several shots of me and Tucker standing on the first floor of a half-built house. I suspected it had been Sam who was holding the camera, but she never appeared nor did she say anything.

Thinking about Tucker brought a lump in my throat, and I put down my fork after only having taken a few bites from what seemed to be a steak on my plate. I hadn't tasted it. Like the sandwich, it tasted like cardboard. Vlad frowned at me.

"Eat that, Daniel, you're not accomplishing anything by starving yourself."

"I'm not hungry."

He leaned forward, his eyes flashing red. "I'll make you..."

Fear is an ugly thing. I felt myself go weak. With a shaking hand, I picked up my fork again and reluctantly started to eat. I glanced at the clock. Three hours, Vlad had said. In half an hour, my powers would be back. He saw me looking and smirked at me.

"I suggest you behave," he said, momentarily allowing me a glimpse on the small device that had taken away my ghost powers.

I looked down at my plate and said nothing. The lump in my throat just wouldn't go away, and I had trouble swallowing. I did manage to eat it all though, and even had some desert, vanilla ice cream with warm chocolate sauce that normally would have been my favorite, but which tasted just the same as everything else: cardboard.

After dinner, I followed Vlad down to his lab in the basement. With a glance on the clock on the wall he instructed me to sit down on one of the tables, and I couldn't help but notice they were spotlessly clean, without any clutter on it like in my parents' basement. The whole place was clean, almost obsessively so, and I realized something: Vlad was an obsessive man in everything he did. Be it his business ventures, his lab, my mother, me, whatever he wanted, he would stop at nothing to get it. I shuddered.

Vlad approached me and told me to hold out my arm and sit still. I complied. He stuck a needle in my arm and drew blood in the syringe. He transferred the blood in a vial and placed it in a centrifuge. After only a moment of rotating it at high speed, he took it out again and showed it to me. There were now four colors in the vial, first the dark red blood cells, a thin line of white, platelets, the yellow from the plasma and a thin layer of glowing green.

"Whatever happens," Vlad said, "Never let them examine your blood. It'll give you away."

"But what if I'm in an accident or something," I said, "I can hardly stop them then..."

Vlad gave me a hard look. "Better you die than that you end up a guinea pig for the GIW."

"What's that?"

"Guys In White. Government agency, hunts and studies ghosts. A half ghost would be the ultimate prize for them. And if you're captured, you'll give me away too."

"As you would," I said coolly.

I thought about the GIW. How bad would it be? Visions of me, strapped to a table and doctors and nurses all around me holding clamps and surgical knives, about to dissect me alive entered my mind. Or maybe I had seen too many science fiction movies.

"They won't capture me. I practically own them. I'm a huge supporter of their research facility."

He placed the vial with my blood in another machine and pressed a button. On a computer screen next to it, numbers appeared, and a graph. Vlad stared at it for a moment and then looked at the clock again.

I felt it. A sudden surge of power going through me, a burning coldness. My vision darkened for a moment, and when I could see properly again, everything seemed brighter, the colors sharper, my hearing enhanced. I heard all the little sounds in the lab, the whirring of the numerous computers, the buzz coming off the ghost portal, my own breathing and heartbeat... With a flash, I transformed into Danny Phantom.

"Ah," Vlad said, "Right on time."

He too transformed and gave me a threatening look. Attacking him was probably not a good idea. I wanted to though. I settled for a glare. He smiled viscously at me.

"I have a special assignment for you," he said, "We're going to introduce you to something new."

* * *

_Anyone wanting to kill Vlad, stand in line :)_

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	22. Forever Connected

A/N: I'm running out of excuses, aren't I... This chapter seems sort of fillerish and I'm not real happy with it, but this story needs to _move_.

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**LOST**

**Chapter 22: Forever Connected**

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Late at night, when everything was quiet and the effect of the Plasmius Maximus had worn off yet again, I sneaked out of the house and set course for my own home. I flew high above the town, marveling at it's lights, the traffic still moving at this late hour, the dark spot in the middle of town where the park was. This was my town, my home. I belonged here. For the first time I felt totally at ease being a ghost.

I refused to dwell on Vlad's training assignment earlier that evening. It had been instructive, but it left a bad taste in my mouth. Vlad had ordered me to overshadow first the cook, and then various other servants in the house, the gardener, the butler and a maid. They hadn't been aware that they were being used, and when I jumped out of their bodies, I had left them confused and disoriented. To my utter relief, they had recovered fast, and had blamed their little blackout on working too hard.

It was hard getting around in somebody else's body. The dimensions were all wrong, longer or shorter limbs than I was used to, their weight heavier or lighter than mine. I inadvertently caused a small burn wound on Gascoigne's hand and I had wanted to apologize to him when I left his body, but Vlad stopped me. I got the hang of it after a few tries, but I didn't like overshadowing Linelle, the maid. It felt weird, being a woman.

What had surprised me the most, however, was their weakness. I tried to lift a box while being Nate, the driver, and it was surprisingly heavy for him. His thin arms hardly held any muscle at all. I used the bodies of the people I overshadowed and it seemed I had to accept their physical limitations. However, I also had access to my ghost powers, which I demonstrated by forming a small glowing ecto ball above Linelle's hand.

Vlad didn't need to threaten me again. I had followed his instructions to the letter, and had carefully avoided giving him any reason to think I wasn't anything but obedient. He looked suspiciously at me a couple of times, but in the end seemed to think I had come around. He even gave me another room to sleep in instead of the one I destroyed, another guest bedroom with its own bathroom. I had transferred my school stuff and my clothes to that room, politely wished him goodnight and pretended to go to bed.

I'd had a hard time staying awake, listening to the quietness of the house. Vlad had zapped me again at ten, so I couldn't do anything until one AM. He checked on me around midnight, and I pretended to be asleep, praying he wouldn't find it necessary to consolidate my lack of ghost powers through the night. Not only because it would seriously hamper my plan of visiting Jazz, but also because it was really painful. He opened the door and stuck his head in, stared at me for a while and then left. I was a little surprised at the fact he hadn't seen me shake.

Almost reluctantly, I descended towards my house, my home, phased through the ridiculous ops center, the roof, right into my own room. I landed on the bed with a thump, and quickly transformed back to my human form, afraid that one of the many ghost gadgets of my parents would pick up my signature or something. I sat on my bed for a while, taking in the familiar scent of the room, the dark forms of the desk, the chair, the wardrobe. This was my room. I belonged here. I looked at the empty walls, the lighter rectangles on it signifying where the NASA posters had hung. I should put something up there again. I just didn't know what.

The door to the hallway opened and a dark figure looked in. Quickly, I turned myself invisible, hoping that the distinct impression I made on the covers of my bed wouldn't give me away. The figure opened the door completely and I stared at her, trying to see who it was. Certainly not my father.

"Danny?"

With a relieved sigh, I turned myself visible again.

"Jazz," I said, smiling, knowing she couldn't see my face in the dark.

Quickly, she entered the room and closed the door behind her. Then she rushed to me, and I jumped up to meet her halfway. She hugged me, and I clung on to her, holding her tightly. She was breathing against my shoulder and I leaned on her a little. I was surprised at how small she seemed to me. She pushed me back a little and looked up at my face in the orange light that came from the streetlights outside.

"You're insane for coming here," she said.

"Yeah, well, I need to keep looking for Sam and Tucker," I said, "How'd you know I was in here?"

"I always know when you're in here, Danny."

She let go of me and sat down on the bed. I sat down next to her, and for a moment there was an awkward silence. I knew what she wanted to ask me, why was I going along with Vlad, and she knew I knew. Which made me wonder if she knew I knew she knew. I chuckled.

"What?" she asked, "What's so funny?"

"Nothing. Did you look up Amorpho?"

She nodded. "He's actually not all that bad. We've had a run in with him about a year ago, there was an incident with one of dad's inventions and he got stuck being you, while you got stuck being Danny Phantom. A real mess it was. When everything was resolved, you let him leave on the condition that he keep his pranks more or less harmless. And he has ever since. So I'm not sure he'd attack Mrs Crown like that, it just isn't like him."

"It isn't like me either." I stared at the floor.

"I know." She grabbed my head and turned it towards her, forcing me to look her in the eyes. "You would never do something like that. I know you wouldn't. I'm sorry if I seemed to be doubting you earlier, but you've always been the good guy, Danny. I'll never believe it if they accuse you of something that horrible."

I felt a pang of guilt going through me. If only she knew...

"I'm not the Danny you knew," I said.

"No." It was her turn to stare at the floor.

"Jazz."

Her hands were on her lap, clenched tightly. I could see the strain she was under, the pressure that was almost crushing her. I wasn't the only one stressed out by all of this. She was trying to take the burden of being my anchor, my counselor, and my mother at the same time, while juggling with her work for college and tutoring me. And I was a stranger to her. Again I suppressed the thought that she'd be better off without me.

"I can't be him," I said, "But I'll try my best to act in his memory."

She looked up and smiled. "See," she said, "You're still in there."

Only his ghost. I wanted to tell her about the void in my head, the inaccessibility of everything that transpired right before I woke up not knowing who or what I was, but I didn't want her to lose hope. Somehow, I had developed a new personality, and I displayed behavior that threw people off. I had watched more of those old video tapes with me and my friends on it during the past week, and somehow couldn't connect to the boy on the TV who looked like me. I got up and turned on my computer.

"Let's have a look at those ghosts," I said, stifling a yawn. I'd been up since six thirty in the morning.

"You should get some sleep," Jazz said, "You have school tomorrow."

I had almost forgotten that. Tomorrow would be... interesting. I couldn't worry about it.

"This is the only chance I have," I said, "I'd take the memory stick with me to do it at Vlad's, but I don't have a computer there."

Jazz frowned. "You'll need one for your homework," she said, "Didn't he..."

I flushed red. "It, um, broke," I said.

She looked at me, her eyes suddenly scrutinizing. I flinched as her gaze went down from the bruise on my face to my bandaged wrist. She grabbed it and turned it around, showing the red spot – which looked black in the light coming from the monitor – on it where some blood had leaked through. I hadn't bothered to change the bandages, and I know realized I should have.

"What's this," she said, alarmed, "This wasn't here this afternoon."

Before I could stop her, she had unwrapped the bandage, showing the thin cut on my wrist. She gasped.

"Did you do this?" she asked.

I jerked my arm back. "No."

"Then how..."

"It was an accident. I cut myself on the shards of the monitor from my computer when it fell of my desk, alright?"

She frowned at me, but said nothing, instead reaching under my bed to retrieve a first aid kit. She obviously didn't believe me for a minute, but decided to let it rest for the moment. That was fine by me. She could believe anything she wanted. Anything would be better than the truth.

I sat down on the desk chair and managed to type in my password before she reclaimed my wrist to re-bandage it. When she was done, I again inserted the memory stick into the computer and together we started browsing through the different ghosts in the database. I read all I could about Amorpho, and I had to agree with Jazz that it didn't seem like he would cause somebody to be actually harmed in any way. We looked at some vague video footage of him from a security camera at the school, and I tried to get an idea of what he was like by staring at a picture of him. Which was hard, seeing as he didn't have a face.

"Is this the only ghost that can shape shift?" I asked, rubbing my eyes.

Jazz shrugged. "The only ghost that I know of... oh."

She had gone pale. I looked at her questionably. She just shook her head.

"What, Jazz?"

"No... it can't be. He doesn't exist. You never became him." (1)

A sudden fear gripped me. I had a feeling I didn't want to hear it, but I asked her anyway. "Tell me, Jazz."

"There was a moment... there was a possibility you turned into something... ugly. I don't know how. Somehow, an evil future you got to our time and tried to hurt us. You somehow managed to stop it... Look under D, Dan Phantom."

I scrolled down and sure enough, there was an entry. There was surprisingly little information on him. No picture. A short description, stating how he/I came to be, a list of abilities that was impressive. All the 'ordinary' stuff like invisibility, and such, humongous ecto blasts, something called a ghostly wail which was very destructive, duplication, and a capability to travel to the ghost zone directly by tearing a hole in reality. And shape shift. This wasn't helping at all.

"Why is there so little on... him," I asked, "The information on the other ghosts is extensive."

"I don't know." Jazz was frowning again. If she kept this up, she would look all wrinkled like an old woman before she turned twenty. "You never wanted to talk about it. You just said it never happened, so we shouldn't worry about it. You had nightmares, though. I could hear you scream you'd never be him in your sleep."

"You were all killed," I said quietly, staring at the description. "Everybody. Mom, dad, Sam, Tucker, you... Mr Lancer. I couldn't take it."

I got up, walked to the window and opened it, breathing in the cool night air. The feeling of dread increased. I didn't respond to my family or friends dying well. With my ghostly abilities, I'd turn into something ugly, something very dangerous. Something so powerful that I could destroy an entire city, an entire country, maybe even the entire world. I leaned on the window sill and closed my eyes.

"Danny."

They were alive. They had to be. It couldn't be that my mind had decided that I couldn't cope with their loss, that instead of turning me into a monster I'd be better off not remembering. But I couldn't live with not knowing either.

"Danny, let's go find Amorpho."

Amorpho. It had to have been him. I walked back to my desk, opened the bottom drawer and retrieved the map of the ghost zone. I spread it out and turned on the desk lamp to have a better look at it. Jazz leaned closer and pointed at something.

"Clockwork's lair," she said, "Maybe we should try and talk to this guy. He's the one who helped you with your evil future self."

"Clockwork?"

I opened the file on him and quickly scanned the information on him. It seemed I had met him twice, the first time with the whole Dark Dan Phantom debacle, and the second time when I foolishly had tried to change history in order to save my friends.

"Maybe we can get him to change history," I said, "So this all never happened."

"I don't think so," Jazz said pensively, staring at the three images on the screen that went with the information, drawings, done by Sam, judging from the signature, "He's a manipulator, he only let you try to change history before to teach you a lesson. And that whole Dan Phantom thing, he actually let you watch us die. He could have intervened at any time, but he chose to put through that."

"You mean to say he's evil?"

"I mean to say he's a ghost with his own agenda. We shouldn't trust him. But he might tell us something."

I stared at the map again. Skulker's liar, some sort of floating island. Walker's prison, a forbidding looking place that gave me the creeps with its high walls. Desiree's realm. All the way in the bottom corner, a castle with a few hardly legible names scribbled beside it, and in slightly larger print Armagondia. The name sounded familiar and it took me a few moments to remember: the knights I had witnessed fighting almost a week ago had come from there. But no Amorpho.

"Maybe he knows where to find Amorpho," I said, getting up.

I folded the map carefully, making sure not to tear it. I should make a copy of it. Then I picked up the first aid kit and pushed it under the bed, causing something else to roll out from under it. It was the thermos containing the black knight. What was left of him, anyway. I picked it up and weighed it in my hand.

"When this whole mess is resolved, I'll try and return him where he belongs, OK?" I said, hoping to somehow set Jazz's mind at ease about who I was.

I must have succeeded, because the statement caused a wan smile on her face. I stifled another yawn and looked longingly at my bed for a moment, then purposely shook my head. It was two AM, and I had lots to do. I'd be lucky if I got any sleep at all.

"Where are you going?" Jazz asked when she saw me walking to the door.

"The lab," I said.

"You're going into the zone."

I nodded without looking back. Silently, careful to step over the step that always made a cracking sound, I walked down, all the way to the basement. Once there, I quickly checked the equipment, making sure all of it was either turned off or mostly harmless. The door to the weapons vault was closed, a red blinking light above the door signifying... something meaningful to my parents no doubt. In the far corner, the Specter Speeder. And of course the door to the ghost zone.

I transformed, walked to the genetic lock and opened the steel doors. For a moment, I let the cold, swirling green overwhelm me. I hadn't realized how much I had missed it. When I was human, it was only a slight pull, a whispering presence, both scary and alluring. When being a ghost...

"It's affecting you, isn't it."

I swirled, immediately dropping into a fighting stance. Jazz stepped back. I lowered my fists.

"Geez, Jazz, don't sneak up on me like that."

She had changed into jeans and a sweatshirt. Her hair was still a mess, but she had haphazardly pulled it back into a pony tail which looked strange on her. She wrapped her arms around her chest and looked around the lab.

"I'm coming with you," she announced.

"No you're not."

"You can't stop me, baby bro."

She nodded to the Specter Speeder. I looked at it, contemplated sabotaging it for a moment, but discarded it as too dangerous. I might need the thing at some point to get Sam and Tucker out. Come to think of it, I might need Jazz's help with that too...

"Alright," I said.

She looked surprised, obviously having expected me to put up more of a fight, but I didn't see the point of it. I would lose the argument anyway, and by giving in straight away I would save time. I walked to the speeder and looked inside. It was rather spacious. Two chairs in the front, for the pilot and co-pilot, and behind that, some sort of cargo bay with a few more seats against the bulkhead. I stepped inside and made my way to the front. A slight rocking of the vessel indicated that Jazz had followed me inside.

"Do you know how to drive this thing?" I asked.

"Sure," she said, "It isn't hard."

She sat down in the pilot's seat and I sat down next to her. She started flipping switches, and the strange vehicle came to life, screens lighting up, warning lights blinking and finally a low hum, coming from what I supposed was the engine. Then she got hold of the controls and moved it forward. Slowly, we started to move in the direction of the swirling green and in a moment we were through it, entering the now familiar vastness of the ghost zone. Jazz shivered. I looked at the map.

The island where I had landed the previous time was right in front of us, and it was also on the map. Small letters beside it depicted it as 'Bone Island', and a red cross on it probably signified 'don't go there'. The experience from the last time I was here in mind, I decided to take these red crosses seriously.

Jazz steered us around the island, deeper into the zone, and I looked out of the window. We didn't speak for a while, other than short phrases like 'check the map, will you', and 'what's that over there'. Our progress was slow, as we had to look out for other ghosts and dangerous places indicated on the map. A few times, I had the feeling we weren't moving at all, but every time the scenery suddenly changed and we were somewhere else. And everywhere we went there were purple doors. Entrances to ghost lairs. I had no idea which one would be Amorpho's.

"Danny," Jazz suddenly said, "What really happened to your arm?"

I shifted uncomfortably. "I told you. The computer..."

"That's crap. The cut is too straight for that, to neat." She looked straight ahead, purposely avoiding my eyes. "It looks... self inflicted."

"No!" I hadn't meant to shout at her. I took a deep breath and tried to calm down, knowing that I acted guilty. "No," I said, more calmly, "It was an accident."

I remembered the terror I felt when my hand had held the knife against my wrist, the sudden pain when its sharp edge penetrated my skin, the fascinating trickle of blood flowing out, red blood, human blood. I wondered if I could be overshadowed when I was in ghost form.

"You know you can tell me anything, don't you?" Jazz was saying, oblivious of my turmoil, "I won't... judge you. I'll always stand by you."

That was what she thought. She still thought I hadn't done anything wrong. She also thought I would cut myself, maybe even kill myself. My problems were more basic, more everyday, if you can speak of that in my situation. I had committed a crime, and was being blackmailed for it. Simple as that. I wished everything in my life were that simple.

"Yeah, I know," I said.

I didn't say anything more, afraid I would give something away. I couldn't tell her about Vlad, couldn't tell her why I let him get away with the things he did. I felt a tightness in my chest and I was sure that if I had been human, my breath would have been an uneven, telltale struggle. As it was, I used all the energy I had in keeping my face impassive. If thinking that I cut myself was what it took to keep Jazz away from my secret, so be it. I hated not trusting her.

I touched the bulkhead, feeling the hum of the engine, marveling at the genius who had designed and built the vehicle. My parents made an odd couple. As strange, obnoxious and totally oblivious my father might seem, under the goofy exterior he hid a remarkable mind. He wasn't one for details, more of the bigger picture. He had ideas. The crazy thing was, a lot of his ideas actually worked. The execution of those ideas, however, was not exactly safe, and that was where my mom stepped in. She moderated him, manipulated him, pushed and pulled, baked cookies if that was what it took, and in the end they had something that worked perfectly. Usually something that tore ghosts apart molecule by molecule. I shivered.

"I'm stepping out for a while," I announced, and without waiting for an answer phased through the bulkhead into the coldness of the zone.

I flew beside the Specter Speeder for a while, then swerved and circled it easily. On my own, I could move a lot faster than in the Specter Speeder, but I was still glad she came along. I just didn't want to talk to her at the moment. Her glares at me from time to time told me she knew I was avoiding her.

We moved for another half hour, not really having any trouble other than a rather annoying blue ghost wearing pajamas, wanting to hug me and be his friend. I struggled with him for a while, and finally blasted him away from me. He looked hurt, but didn't dare come close again. I glared at him and he turned around, yanked open one of the purple doors and dove through it, allowing me a glimpse of an icy landscape. The doors, so it seemed, led to other ghost dimensions. I didn't want to think about how that worked. It made my head spin. Instead, I phased back into the Speeder.

"Hah," Jazz said scornfully. Then her eyes softened. "I won't bug you about it again, Danny," she said, and I heard the pain in her voice, "But please, please, don't do this to yourself. I love you. Mom and dad love you. Remember that, even in your darkest moments."

I didn't know it was possible, but she made me feel even more guilty. I almost, almost told her right then and there.

"Look," she said, "There it is."

A strange, castle like building was floating amongst interconnecting, insubstantial gears. The building itself looked like some sort of huge clock, yet the springs seemed to serve no purpose, the pendulums impossibly upside down, and a darkness was emanating the building that seemed to suck up some of the green glow of the ghost zone.

This was not a friendly place. The story of my life.

I looked at my sister and saw on her face the reflection of my own feelings: fear. She looked back at me. And at that moment, I felt the connection to her, a bond deeper than what seemed possible after only two weeks. Brother and sister. Forever connected, whether we liked it or not. I smiled.

"Let's go."

* * *

_OK, another reason why my writing is slowing down right now: I can't do Clockwork (cries). He's such a know-it-all, a deus ex machina that can be used to solve anything and I hate that. Danny has problems. They can't be solved with the wave of a magic want or the staff of a time ghost. But I couldn't ignore him either. So next chapter has Clockwork in it. Yes, the stupid chapter is finished, too. It just needs (lots of) editing. _

_(1) I read a story called 'Infinite Potential' by MyAibou (go read. It's awesome), and I had a short discussion with her on the question whether or not Danny knows Dark Dan Phantom still exists out of time. She argued, and now that I think about it, I agree, that Danny never saw Clockwork take the thermos with him. He pulled Danny back two hours before the explosion, and gave him the CAT test he had 'borrowed'. As far as Danny is concerned, 'Dark Dan' doesn't exist._


	23. Clockwork

A/N: Alright, here it is, please don't kill me. As for the next chapter, it may be a while. I only have the first two paragraphs written, things have been kind of hectic here lately and I have hardly had the chance to sit down and do some writing. I can't write when there are people running around all the time. That's why I used to write between 12 and 2 AM, but that was starting to become unhealthy. Plus I'm working on another story that I'm psyched about, and it's taking away attention from this one. Sorry about all these lame excuses. Just telling you how I see things.

And as for the people who reviewed, thank for your encouragement, 'cuz I needed it :)

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**LOST**

**Chapter 23: Clockwork**

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The interior of the castle was even stranger than the outside. First of all, the dimensions were all wrong. I should have known it, of course, but I was still surprised by the vastness of the space. Everywhere I looked, as far as the eye could see, there were dials, hands, gears, forming some sort of maze, seemingly impossible to get through. For a ghost.

For a human, however, it was surprisingly easy. With some regret, I transformed back into my human counterpart, grabbed Jazz's hand and simply walked through the obstacles until we came to some sort of clearing with a huge, circular screen. Something was moving on the screen, and I walked closer to have a look at it. And recoiled.

A dark, barren landscape, hills, a few lonely, leafless trees. The red sun glowed menacingly, giving no comfort and no warmth. In the distance, black buildings and high rises, old factories, ruined houses. A soft breeze made the dust on the ground swirl. Ashes, I realized. Ashes. I could almost smell it, the remnants of the fire that raged over these hills, this town. A familiar town. A skyline I had seen before, sitting in the back of a car, speeding towards Amity Park, drinking beer. Jazz stepped closer to me and grabbed my arm. I placed my hand on hers and squeezed it.

"The future is not set in stone."

We both jumped at the deep voice coming from behind us. Without hesitating, I transformed back into Danny Fenton and swirled around. Jazz gasped when the white rings passed harmlessly through her.

The ghost of an old man was floating about ten feet away from us. His hood was partly shielding his glowing red eyes, and embedded in his chest was what seemed like a pendulum. I gulped, and while I watched, his appearance suddenly shifted into a younger man. He lifted the staff in his right hand and pointed it at the screen. We turned, and now the picture had changed, showing a green landscape, road and the same skyline of Amity Park, bathing in sunlight.

"W-what?" Confusion clear on my face, I turned to the ghost who I presumed was Clockwork.

"Danny Phantom," he continued, floating closer, "One of the most promising and dangerous ghosts around. You have great power. Power to destroy..." His staff swooshed. The dead town appeared, rubble in the streets, dark, human shaped figures on the ground. "... Power to create."

The image swirled and shifted, and then a dark-haired young man appeared, smiling, waving at someone - "Danny, that's you!" - and then his smile broadened and he crouched, holding his arms wide. A little blur with long black pigtails jumped into him and he fell backwards on the grass in the park, laughing.

I stared. The lump in my throat was back, and I tried to swallow a few times. I didn't dare make a sound, say something, because if I did, I would start crying. The man on the screen stretched his arms, still laying down, and held the little girl, no more than five years old, up in the air. She squealed and giggled, and then someone else appeared, a woman wearing black cargo pants tucked into heavy combat boots. She sat down next to the man and the girl and wiped her black hair out of her face.

"Sam," I choked.

The image suddenly dissolved, and something else appeared, a graveyard, cold and misty. Two new looking tombstones on a hill. I wanted to look away, but found myself strangely frozen on the spot. Sam Manson and Tucker Foley. Forever in our hearts. The white haired, green eyed ghost sitting on Sam's grave looked almost translucent. He didn't move, and the tombstones withered, became green from the mold, cracked with age and finally crumbled until nothing remained but two hardly recognizable lumps in the grass on the hill. Only the haunted green eyes remained. I made some sort of hiccuping sound.

"Stop it," Jazz whispered, "You're killing him."

Another wave of the staff, all images stopped and only a mirror remained. I could see us standing there, staring at our reflection. Jazz with her worried, sickened looking face, an impassive looking time ghost, now in the form of a young child, and me, the white haired half ghost, looking desperate.

"The future is not set in stone," Clockwork repeated, "It changes with every move you make, your sister makes, your friends, family, school mates, distant acquaintances, someone living on the other side of town, of the country, of the world..."

"Why are you tormenting him?" Jazz demanded. I still couldn't make a sound.

"I am not. He does it to himself," Clockwork said. "Tell me. If by killing your brother, I would save both humans and ghosts, should I do it?"

"That's unfair," Jazz said, "My brother is not evil. He's just..." She faltered and glanced at me. "...confused."

"Everybody has the capacity of evil deep inside of them," Clockwork said matter-of-factly, "Some more than others. Your brother is on a threshold. Should he cross, there is no going back. In the end, it all depends on the decisions he makes." He gestured at the screen and the dark landscape with the red sun reappeared. "The future. A future. At this moment, as likely as the others. The only true way to erase this possibility of a future altogether is by eliminating Danny Phantom."

I closed my eyes. I could not believe it would end here. Not now. Not when I had so much to do.

"When?" I croaked.

"When what?" Jazz asked.

Clockwork answered, obviously already knowing what I meant. "Not for a while. Not here and now. But at one point, you'll have to answer for your deeds. It all depends on choices. Not just yours, although they do play a big part in it."

I turned away and stared at the ominous future again. Not _the_ future, I reminded myself. A possibility. Surely I could prevent this? I didn't want this to happen, so couldn't I just chose not to do it? Would it be that simple?

"I'm not evil," I said.

"No," Clockwork agreed, "You aren't. But what is evil, Danny?"

A wave of his staff, and another horrible image appeared, a familiar image, seen thousands of times, printed in every history book as a warning, an example of what evil looked like. Auswitz, Dachau, thousands, millions of bodies stacked on wagons, starved prisoners with dull eyes moving about, hoisting them up. I felt sick.

"Is it the man who thought it all up, who set this in motion, or is it the man who let it all happen, who looked away, who was only doing his job?"

The image changed, showing men and women working in an office, processing forms, stamping them and stacking them, while other people collected them and took them away. Records, I realized, names, addresses, religion, ethnic group.

"Evil can be in action, in doing harm, but evil can also be in letting harm be done."

"I..." I swallowed. "What am I?"

"Neither, at the moment," Clockwork said.

Jazz stepped forward, obviously having had enough of this nonsense. "Are you gonna help us or not," she demanded.

"I am helping," he said, and I heard the maddening superiority in his voice.

"Tell us what happened to Danny."

"Ah."

"Don't 'ah' me!"

"Information is a delicate thing, Jasmine. Watch your step."

"What?" She stepped back, tripped over a crack in the floor and almost fell. I caught her. She glared at Clockwork. "Must be nice to know everything."

"Indeed. But would you have tripped if I hadn't said anything?" (1)

She was silent. I let go of her and saw something appear on the screen from the corner of my eyes. I turned to watch while Jazz folded her arms.

"Your brother," Clockwork continued, "Chose to ignore my warnings. He set a path for himself, and is now facing the consequences. It seems he insists on learning his lessons the hard way."

"This isn't about learning lessons," Jazz said angrily, stepping closer to the ghost, "This is my brother we're talking about, and he's going through hell, we all are going through hell and we _need to know_!"

Clockwork answered in his level voice, and Jazz retorted, becoming more agitated every time the ghost of time evaded her questions or gave noncommittal answers. I no longer listened, but instead stepped closer to the image of the dead town on the screen. Stretching out my hand, I almost touched it, and suddenly there was movement in the streets, a small figure making her way through the destruction, staying close to the buildings. I knew who it was.

The image zoomed in, showing the girl's thin frame, her ragged clothes, the dirt on her face. She couldn't be more than twelve years old. Her blue eyes were hollow and desperate, flashing up and down the street. She didn't cry. She had lost that ability some time ago.

At the corner, she stopped, hesitating. She looked behind her, eyed the buildings on the other side of the street, examining their dark, broken windows. Then she looked up at the sky for a long time. Time passed. Her breathing sped up, and finally she looked at the other side of the street again. A small grocery store with broken windows. She was hungry.

"Don't go," I wanted to shout at her, but she moved anyway. She crossed the street quickly, using a large boulder that had fallen from one of the taller buildings as a cover, hiding behind it for a moment before she continued. She was careful, experience showed in her every move. Once on the other side, she phased through the wall and I started in surprise.

I followed her in, and caught her shifting through various canned foods that were laying in a large pile on the floor. The shop was incredibly filthy, the smell of rotting flesh almost overwhelming, but she ignored it. Quietly, I watched her try to open a can of white beans in tomato sauce, which used to be her favorite. She cursed softly and moved to the front of the store where the counter was. I moved with her. She gasped when she rounded the counter, hesitated for a split second and then stepped over the decaying body of what used to be the shop owner. There were several drawers. She opened the top one and started rummaging through it, muttering to herself. I couldn't catch what she was saying. I shimmered into view.

Immediately, a blue mist evaporated from her mouth and she stiffened. Slowly, she turned around.

"D-dad," she said.

"Lillith."

My voice sounded dark and menacing. I smiled at her and extended my hand to touch her face. She flinched.

"I'm the last one left," she said.

"I know."

My hand moved down, touched her throat and wrapped its fingers around it. She was so thin I could easily snap it with only one hand.

"Please make it quick," she said, "Mom suffered."

My thoughts drifted to Sam, beautiful Sam. Accusing purple eyes seemed to stare at me from behind my daughter and I looked away. Outside, darkness settled over the town. Soon, the streets would be infested with ghosts, moving about, searching for lost souls they wouldn't find because I killed everybody. Almost everybody. My hand tightened around her throat, but still, I didn't look, not even when she started making choking sounds, not even when I felt her body go limp. I let go of her, letting her fall to the floor on top of what was left of the shop owner.

With a scream, I stumbled backwards, away from the screen. I tripped and fell down, hard. Jazz was with me in an instant, grabbing my arms, pulling me close while I sobbed. I heard her voice, mumbling comforting things, telling me it wasn't real, it was a cruel trick from the ghost of time, I shouldn't look at the screen anymore. She pulled my head in her lap and I wrapped my arms around her waist. She felt warm and comforting.

She would die.

With a gasp, I sat up and skidded away from her. "Stay away," I whispered, "I'll kill you."

"Danny no..."

"I mean it!" My eyes flickered to the screen again, but all that was there was a gray swirling mist. "I killed them all, I'll kill you and mom and dad and Sam and even..." I choked on that last part.

"Danny stop it! You're hysterical!"

I pulled my knees up. I was sitting on the floor right beside the screen, with my back against a huge gear. Jazz was on her knees, a few feet away from me, looking desperate. Behind her, the figure of Clockwork, an old man once again, his face expressionless. I knew what he was doing. I knew why he was doing it. I also knew it was working. Again, I glanced at the screen, but there was no change, still that gray swirling.

"I have to save Sam and Tucker first," I said hoarsely.

Clockwork nodded. "That you do."

I got up slowly, walked over to Jazz and pulled her to her feet. I wrapped my arm around her shoulders and stood to face Clockwork. He shifted again, back to the younger man. I wondered what his true form was, or if he even had a true form.

"You're a manipulative bastard," I said. I turned to leave.

"Danny."

I stopped, but didn't turn around.

"The future is not set in stone."

* * *

_OMG... that was terrible... how did I think this up... You know, the really scary part is that whatever my twisted mind thinks up, there's always something worse in the real world...  
_

_(1) Yeah, yeah, The Matrix. Don't own.  
_


	24. Despair

A/N: I'm not even gonna start apologizing for this story. It's been over two months. On the bright side, this chapter is fairly long. Can't be helped, people, I have to be in the right mood for writing this and it hasn't happened until now. Other than that, I have a life. Updates are going to be infrequent.

* * *

**LOST**

**Chapter 24: Despair**

* * *

We made our way back to the Specter Speeder easily, going through the gears and walls of Clockwork's castle in human form so we didn't have to bother finding our way through the strange place. Once outside, I transformed back into Phantom, feeling more at ease that way. Being human in the ghost zone was more than a little creepy. The feeling of something cold constantly touching my warm, human skin, the cold fingers in my neck was enough to have me almost screaming. Jazz's shivers told me she felt the same, so I quickly steered her to the safety of the Specter Speeder. Her shivers subsided somewhat when the door closed behind her and we were once again surrounded by solid, real world steel.

"I hate this place," she said, sitting down behind the controls.

"Do you still feel it? I mean, here, inside the Speeder?" I asked, curious because she was still shivering a little.

She paused and looked at me. "A little. Because of..."

"Me."

"Your ghost form."

I sat down next to her. She still didn't move, but kept staring at me. I tried to look her in the eyes, tried to hide my feelings, the sudden understanding of what I had to do, but of course it was no use. It was unnerving how she seemed to be able to see right through me.

"The future is not set in stone," she said.

I looked away. "Can we take chances with it though?" I asked.

"Yes, we can. You're not evil. You never will be. Whatever you saw in that mirror, it still remains only a possibility, one of many possibilities. He showed it to you only to drive you over the edge, Danny, look at me."

I looked.

"Do not think that we'll be better off with you gone."

I looked down at my gloved hands and said nothing. I did feel better though, if only a little. Maybe there was a way out of this. I didn't want to die. But I also didn't want Jazz to die, or Sam, or the little girl with the pigtails, the thin looking daughter that couldn't have been older than twelve at most when I killed her. I shivered, remembering the feeling of my hand around her neck. My vision swam for a moment as tears threatened to spill out of my eyes again, but I willed them away. When my hands came back into focus, they were clenched. Then another thought hit me.

"You didn't see?" I asked, looking up at my sister again.

She shook her head, slowly. "I had my back to it. Only when you started screaming... What did you see, Danny?"

I shook my head. "I'll never tell."

She let out an exasperated sigh, bend forward and started pressing the necessary buttons to start up the Specter Speeder. The vehicle came to life with its soft hum, and we started drifting away from the castle like a boat untied from a pier at the harbor. Jazz moved the controls, and we picked up speed. We didn't speak for a while, Jazz busy with the navigation and the settings of the different dials and meters, and me brooding in the chair next to her. Finally, after about ten minutes, she relaxed and leaned back in her chair. The green landscape passed us by, strangely comforting, like we were driving on the road late at night. Staring out of the window was relaxing, I could pretend nothing was wrong, that the green outside was normal, the purple doors houses, the islands... islands.

A weariness crept up on me, my arms and legs ached with fatigue. The emotional exhaustion was worse, though. I felt stretched past my limit, both numb and on edge. My thoughts kept going in circles, the images I had seen on the big screen in Clockwork's castle shifting and twisting, deforming until I could no longer distinguish one from the other. To me, they were all real.

"Why don't you try and get some sleep in the back."

I jerked up at the sound of her voice, and then slouched down in my chair again. Jazz looked at me sternly, and I crossed my arms.

"You're not my mother."

"I'm not trying to be. Don't be an idiot, Danny, you need to sleep. You've been running on empty since you got home tonight. You have school tomorrow. Get. Some. Sleep."

I'd been running on empty since the day I woke up in that cabin. I was just about to blurt out an angry retort when something slammed into the side of the Specter Speeder, sending Jazz flying out of her chair. Luckily for her, but not for me, she knocked into me, and I hit the side of the Specter Speeder with a painful thump. Stars danced before my eyes for a moment, and I frantically groped around until I managed to get a hold on her.

"Jazz! Are you alright?"

Before she could answer, we were hit again, and the vehicle lurched. I pushed her away from me, and she started scrambling back into her seat.

"I'm fine," she gasped, "What hit us?"

"I'll find out."

I phased outside and looked around. I didn't need to look far.

About a dozen ghosts, floating about fifty yards away. They all looked similar, like some sort of policemen. Guards, I realized, prison guards. In the middle...

"Bullet," I hissed.

I remembered him from the pictures on my computer. In fact, his picture was one of the very first I looked at. The ghost hadn't meant anything to me at the time. Here in the ghost zone, however, surrounded by his goons, smirking at me – he was very far away; there should be no way to make out the expression on his face, yet I knew that was what he was doing – he sent shivers up my spine. I wanted out of here. Fast. Another blast hit the Specter Speeder and I evaded a second one. I phased back in.

"Step on it!" I yelled.

The Speeder lurched again, and Jazz clutched the steering wheel tightly as she pushed if forward, almost trying to push it through the dashboard. I was thrown back into my seat. The acceleration pinned me down, and I looked nervously outside at the quickly disappearing goons. They did make an attempt at following us, but luckily the Speeder was faster.

"Did we lose them?" Jazz asked.

I stuck my head out of the Speeder and looked back. They were nowhere to be seen, but here in the Ghost Zone, that didn't mean anything. Distances were weird here.

"I think so," I said, after pulling my head back in, "Maybe."

"Good, because I'm gonna have to slow down again soon. At the rate we're burning fuel we won't make it back."

I looked at the dials and meters, but couldn't really make anything of it. She saw me looking and pointed at a meter on the left. The needle was approaching the red area fast.

"Better go on for a little while longer," I said, "Just to be on the safe side. If push comes to shove I can always push us the rest of the way."

I wasn't sure about that and didn't relish the idea of me being outside the speeder, pushing it slowly while being attacked by giant octopuses, but I wanted to be absolutely sure we had lost Bullet and his goons. I did not want to be captured by him. The idea alone sent me into a near panic.

"No you can't," Jazz was saying, "You're exhausted." She slowed the Speeder down a little, which made me very nervous. "Go lay in the back for a while, Danny, I know it isn't very comfortable, but at least try to relax a little."

I glanced outside. I couldn't let them catch me. They would catch me. We were going too slow.

"Jazz, please speed up," I said, trying to keep my voice collected, "They'll catch us."

She shook her head decisively. "We lost them," she said confidently, looking at the screens that showed images from the cameras mounted on the back of the Speeder, allowing us to see what was behind us. "If I see them, I'll speed up again. We have to make it to the portal."

I was cold. For some reason, I couldn't stop shivering, which was strange seeing that I was in my ghost form. Ghosts don't get cold, they are cold. I wrapped my arms around me and looked outside. Green, everywhere, as usual. It should be comforting, but it somehow no longer was. In fact, it seemed to get darker, the strange swirling getting more menacing, closing in on us.

"Jazz..." I whispered.

No answer. I turned to look at her, but she was gone. I blinked in surprise and confusion. It was really dark now, but I should have seen the familiar glow coming from the dashboard of the Specter Speeder, the chair she had been sitting on... but they weren't there. The only thing that remained was the darkness, with glowing green spots on the edge of my vision. I tried to open my mouth, tried to make a sound, but nothing came out. The darkness seemed to be closing in on me, enveloping me until I felt nothing but pressure. Panic.

I didn't have a heartbeat, nor did I need to breathe. The only thing that told me that I was panicking were the waves of fear going through my body, paralyzing me. I could feel my seat, I could feel my fists clenching, I could feel my arms jerking from the strain of keeping upright, keeping me from shaking. Power was building up in me, a desperate reach for it, only held in check at the last moment for fear of lashing out at something or someone unintentionally. I needed out, away from the echoing voices that had started screaming in my ears, taunting me, mocking me, threatening me. And I still couldn't see.

"_DANNY!_"

I lurched forward and hit my head against the bulkhead. In the same movement I swept the hands away that were gripping me, nails digging into my shoulders, shaking me violently. I half turned and raised my fists, hands glowing menacingly with a bright green hue. Jazz stumbled back and raised her hands in a futile attempt to ward off my assault. I backed down. Slowly, I led myself slide to the floor. Then I drew up my legs and buried my head between my knees, wrapping my arms around them tightly. I jerked at the soft hand on my shoulder and she withdrew.

"Just go," I said, my voice barely audible above the whine of the Speeder, "Let's go home."

* * *

We made it. Just. Jazz had slowed down to what seemed to be only crawling to me, but was still pretty fast. The goons did catch up again, but just as their shots at us started to get close enough to get worrisome – well, more worrisome, I was on the verge of panic already – we shot through the portal. One ectoblast followed us out and hit the opposing wall, and then Jazz hit the button and the steel doors closed. The engine stopped. Silence.

"Well," Jazz said, looking at the fuel gauge, "That was close. We're empty."

I looked at her, amazed at her calm demeanor. Then I saw it was partly an act. Her mouth twitched and I could see her hands shake a little when she put them in her lap. She was holding herself together for me. One of us panicking was enough. Guiltily, I let the white rings flush over my body to turn myself human once more and stop giving her the shivers. Almost immediately I could feel the unhealthy fast heartbeat in my chest.

"I'm sorry," I said, "I panicked. I..."

I should be the strong one, I wanted to say. I was supposed to be the hero. But was I still? The hero, that had been that other Danny. The confidence, the death defying courage, the cockiness, that was him, not me. I basically fell apart whenever something went wrong.

"Nobody said you have to do everything by yourself, you know," Jazz said, putting a hand on my arm. I didn't flinch away this time."Please talk to me," she said.

I opened my mouth and closed it again. I stared at her, but not really _at_ her. I couldn't explain, there was nothing to say that would make it right. No words existed that could justify what I had done. She'd despise me. But I needed her on my side, at least until we found Sam and Tucker. She had to keep me sane. I said nothing.

"What's so terrible you won't talk about it?" She sounded almost angry now. "What has you spooked into silence, What's so bad you can't tell even me? You know I'll help you!"

"You won't." I almost choked out those words.

I turned away so I didn't have to look her in the eyes anymore. I had to leave. It was now almost four thirty. I needed to get back to Vlad's house before he found out I'd gone. If he hadn't already. I shuddered at that thought. He'd disable my ghost powers permanently if he found out.

Sluggishly, I climbed out of the now quiet Specter Speeder and stood in the middle of the lab for a moment. I had found it strange and alien before, a mad scientist's lab, my crazy parents working on bizarre inventions. I had been a little scared of it even. Now it seemed frighteningly normal. Which only showed how crazy my life really was.

I felt movement behind me and turned to face Jazz. She looked tired. I took a deep breath.

"Go to sleep," I said, and then, hopefully, "See you tomorrow?"

"Sure," she said. I could see she wanted to say more, but she didn't. "After school. I'll come by and we'll look at your homework." She frowned. "Didn't Vlad get you another psychiatrist?"

I let out a short laugh. "I don't think anybody will dare take me at the moment," I smirked.

I thought it was pretty funny, but she didn't laugh. The half smile fell off my face. OK, so maybe it wasn't funny.

"How can we help you if you won't talk?" Jazz said.

Talking wouldn't get me help. I turned away from her and within the blink of an eye transformed back into Phantom. From the corner of my eyes I saw her shiver. I should get out of there.

"I'm tired," I said, and it was true, I realized, I was exhausted. "Tomorrow, Jazz."

Without looking back, I shot through the ceiling, through the roof and through the ops-center. I hovered for a moment, looking down, taking in the strange structure that was my home and then took off in the direction of Vlad's mansion.

I got there way too soon.

* * *

Tuesday wasn't so bad, considering. I had hardly slept, my pounding heart keeping me awake while my exhausted body screamed sleep. I had just lain there, waiting for morning to come, watching the minutes tick away on the alarm clock beside my bed. Five o'clock... five-ten ... five-thirty... I shifted and turned, trying to get comfortable, but every time I hit a sore spot, some muscle ache or burn wound. In the end, I just got up, went to the kitchen and, when I didn't find what I was looking for there, searched the rest of the house. It took me a while, but I found it. I managed a whole hour of sleep before Vlad came to wake me personally.

Breakfast was spent in silence from my part, blearily listening to Vlad's instructions on how to behave, what to do, what to say. At the appropriate moments I grunted compliance while staring down at my plate, and although I received some suspicious looks from him, he seemed to think this was my normal morning behavior. Which is was, kind of. I toyed with my toast for a while until I saw Vlad glaring at it and hastily put it in my mouth, almost choking on the breadcrumbs.

I left the table as soon as I was done, eager to evade more of his disapproving looks, rushed up the stairs and collected the things I needed for school, including my unfinished homework and an old, battered thermos Jazz had given me, which was supposed to be empty. When I returned moments later, Nate, the driver, was waiting for me in his pristine uniform, holding his cap under his arm. I glared at him and then in the general direction of the library where I suspected Vlad, then followed him out and into the ridiculously expensive extended limousine. Laying low at school, trying not to attract attention was so not going to work this way.

"Nate could you please just drop me off at the corner," I asked when we were nearing the school, "I can walk from there..."

He shook his head apologetically. "I'm sorry, sir, Mr Masters instructed me to drive you to the main entrance and escort you inside."

To make sure I actually entered the school and didn't take off, no doubt. Nate parked the car at the curb, got out and quickly rounded the car to open the door for me. The tension that I had successfully battled the night before started to rise again, and for a brief moment my thoughts went to the small bottle with the clear liquid at the bottom of my bag. Then I pushed it away. I was in control. I only took it with me because... because I didn't need it. It was just comforting that it was there. I relaxed and got out of the car.

In silence, we walked to the school's main entrance, slowly ascended the stairs and walked into the hallway. Nate nodded in the direction of the office and I dragged my feet over there. He wasn't just escorting me inside, he was literally handing me over to principal Inshiyama, who was standing in the doorway with a carefully neutral expression on her face. She had been expecting me. Nate touched his cap, smiled at me in a half-hearted encouraging way and left.

"Mr Fenton, please step inside," the principal said.

By that time the hallway was filling up, and I felt people staring at me. My face went red and I kept my eyes on the ground as I followed her through the secretary's space to her office. She closed the door behind me quietly and sat down behind her desk. She didn't invite me to sit, though, so I just stood there, fingering the strap of my backpack slung over one shoulder. She cleared her throat.

"As you know, we are obliged to let you attend the school," she said.

I looked up and noticed how she eyed me nervously. I'm not going to bite your head off you, I thought, but I didn't say it.

"However," she continued, "We will assume a zero tolerance policy with you. No back talking, no threats, and certainly no... _violence_. I will expel you. It won't look very good at your trial. Think about that."

I couldn't help myself. Anger flared. Before I knew it, I had taken a step forward and scowled at her.

"And what if I'm attacked," I asked, "People are always trying to beat me up. Dash..."

"As far as I know _you_ attacked mister Baxter, twice. You almost poked out his eyes. Don't tell me sob stories on how everybody is always picking on you. Gary Simmons has a dislocated knee because of you, he loses this football season and possibly a college grant because of that. You're lucky they decided not to press charges."

Gary Simmons? I blinked and tried to think on who he might be and then remembered the blond jock whose knee I had hit.

"Shouldn't have attacked me," I said sullenly.

I suppose I should have felt sorry for the guy but I only felt emptiness. I couldn't bring myself to care, too wrapped up in my own problems as I was. Mrs Inshiyama glanced nervously at the door again, probably wondering if, if I attacked her, the secretaries could hear her scream. I stepped back to give her some space and a look of relief washed over her face. When she realized it was there, she pressed her lips together and tried to look stern instead.

"Go to class, Mr Fenton," she said, dismissing me, "Biology, I believe."

I pondered saying something else, something along the line of innocent until proven guilty, but decided I had done enough damage to my reputation already. Not that my reputation could get any worse. I just turned and left, walked through the secretaries space which went suspiciously silent as I passed through, and into the already emptying hallway. Students were hurrying past me, barely giving me a glance, but those who did recognized me instantly, did a double take and then hurried along in a somewhat faster pace than before. They left me alone though.

I decided not to visit my locker but instead go straight up to the second floor. Again, like that first day, I arrived at Mrs Kimble's classroom when the hallway was quiet. Again, I hesitated, knowing that I would draw attention to myself by entering now that everybody was already inside. I could still hear the noise of students settling down though. I put my hand on the door handle and again thought about the bottle in my backpack. I could just take a sip...

Mrs Kimble must have spotted me through the small window that was in the door, because suddenly the door handle was yanked from my hand, the door opened and I was face to face with the plump, small teacher. She looked up at me, pressed her lips together and stepped aside to let me enter. The class went deathly silent. Everybody stared at me as I made my way to the back of the classroom and sat in an empty seat. Then the whispers began.

Mrs Kimble cleared her throat and began her lecture. She ignored me. I didn't bother taking out my books, but contented myself with staring down at my desk. I wished my hair was still long so I could hide the bruise on my face. Most of my classmates turned their attention to the teacher, but I felt their nervous glances at me. I sat very still, my elbows on my knees, my face only three inches from the table top. I just waited it out.

* * *

So, the day actually wasn't that bad, and that had nothing to do with how it actually went but everything with how I had expected it to go. Sure, there were the stares, the silences, the avoiding my eyes. But nobody talked to me, not the students or the teachers. Even the lunch lady, who had a remark for everybody, ignored me. She did slab an unidentifiable piece of meat on my plate though, together with what I guessed to be mashed potatoes and something that turned out to be peas. At least my crime didn't warrant me going hungry, apparently.

The only thing that really bothered me was my inability to sleep.

Of the past forty-eight hours I had slept maybe six, one hour the previous night and maybe five in the very uncomfortable cell in prison. I was tired. Teachers droned on in class, and I had no idea of what they were talking about, or even which subject they were teaching. They all left me alone. I should have been able to just go to sleep, but I couldn't. Images kept appearing in my head every time I attempted to close my eyes, images from Clockwork's lair, from the ghosts chasing us on the way back, and some disturbing ones which starred the boy named Corkscrew, glaring at me in the prison canteen. Even so, I could have dealt with them if I hadn't had that tight feeling in my chest and the slightly sick feeling in my stomach. The peas didn't look appetizing at all.

I pushed my lunch around for a while, studiously avoiding everybody's stares. I should eat. I just didn't want to. Then a tall, bulky figure suddenly loomed over me and I knew instantly who it was. Trouble.

"Go away, Dash," I said without looking up, "I don't feel like beating you up today."

In an instant he had grabbed my by the collar and had lifted me up. I had no choice but to stand. He studied my face and then started laughing. I remained silent, remembering Mrs Inshiyama's words about expelling me if I hit somebody.

"Look at you, Fentonia," Dash said, "Don't you look pretty now. Who'd you piss off? One of your prison buddies?"

I clenched my fists. "You must be really stupid, Dash," I growled, "I beat you up along with two of your buddies last week. What makes you think you can take me on on your own?" I grinned viciously. "And by the way, you should see the other guy."

He pushed me back and I stumbled against the table. The cafeteria had gone silent. I tried to unclench my fists but they seemed to have a mind of their own. My arms started trembling. The tightness in my chest increased.

"You're scum, Fenturd," Dash said contemptuously, "A freak and a loser. You don't belong here." He leaned closer and grinned. "Come on, hit me you wuss," he whispered, "You'll be expelled."

I swallowed. He was right. But oh how I wanted to lash out at him, connect my fist with his chin he left so invitingly unguarded. It would be so easy. The guy really was stupid if he thought I would stop there. I could beat him to death, and none of his buddies that were advancing now, forming a half circle around us, would be able to stop me.

I backed down.

There was no hope for me. Either I fought my way out of there and got myself expelled from the school, which probably would convince a jury that I really was one screwed up, violent crook who should be locked up, or I let Dash and his cronies beat me up. A so called lose-lose situation. I laughed.

Dash blinked. I must have sounded sound slightly hysterical, but I couldn't help myself. The more I laughed, the funnier the whole situation became. I was clutching my stomach by the time he moved, growling angrily.

"You think this is funny, Fendork?" he hissed, his face a mere inch from mine.

I gasped for air. "Yeah," I wheezed, hiccuping, trying to suppress my laughter for a moment, "Pretty much."

I saw his fist coming and I ducked. He would have hit my face, at the exact spot the huge purple bruise already was. My hysteria changed to anger in a flash. Since Dash didn't hit me, he overbalanced and I helped him along by planting my fist deeply into his stomach. He let out an 'Umph' and crashed to the floor, instantly curling up and grabbing his stomach. He looked green.

I looked up and scanned the crowd. They were staring at me quietly, but none of them made a move. Smart people. I looked down at the groaning Dash again and for a moment considered kicking him. Just because I wanted to.

"_Noble House_, Mr Fenton, what is going on here?"

Crap.

Slowly, I turned around. There was a shuffling around me, as students who were standing first row suddenly seemed to have somewhere to be. Mr Lancer pushed his way through the crowd and stopped three feet from Dash's moaning form on the ground. I thought the jock was overdoing it at that point. I hadn't hit him that hard.

Mr Lancer looked behind me and pointed. "You and you," he said, volunteering the first two boys he saw, "Take Mr Baxter here to the nurse's office."

He didn't wait for them to comply, but turned to me and opened his mouth.

"I didn't start it," I said.

He closed his mouth and looked at me pensively for a moment. "You were warned," he said, sounding almost sad.

I looked down at the ground. All the fight left me. My shoulders slumped and I waited for those fateful words, condemning me for defending myself. Who was I kidding, anyway. They were determined to bring me down. I didn't know why I thought I stood a chance.

"Dash attacked him."

Valerie's voice. I looked up in surprise. She had stepped forward, looking at me apologetically. I saw the people in the crowd shooting hateful glances at her. She ignored them.

"Danny was just sitting there," she continued, "Dash grabbed him and started insulting him and even then he held back. He didn't do anything. Then Dash tried to hit him on the face and he hit him in the stomach, once. It was self defense."

Mr Lancer sighed and tried to look stern, but I thought I saw a flash of relief on his face. He looked at Valerie, but when nobody contested her, he nodded.

"You two had better follow me," he said, "If we want to keep Mr Fenton from being expelled, we'll have to have formal statements from the two of you." He scanned the crowd. People were looking away. "Unless there is someone here who wants to contradict Miss Grey here?"

Nobody did. I picked up my bag and followed Valerie and Mr Lancer out of the cafeteria to his office. Once in the hallway, I stepped up next to her.

"Thanks," I whispered.

She looked up at me and smiled sadly. "Are you alright?" she whispered back.

I nodded absentmindedly. A standard answer. I was always alright.

Mr Lancer opened the door to his office and allowed us to enter first, before stepping inside himself and carefully closing it behind him. He had us sit down in the chairs in front of the desk and set himself down in the comfortable chair behind it. He was silent for a moment. Then he leaned forward.

"Mr Fenton... Daniel. How are you holding up?" he asked.

I shrugged. "OK."

He looked down at his hands for a moment and then looked up again.

"For the record," he said, "I don't believe any of the accusations made against you. But the fact remains that you're out on bail, and the school, Mrs Inshiyama, has every right to act the way she does. Please restrain yourself as much as possible. I can't step in every time something happens."

The anger was back again. "I can't help it, can I, if Dash or some other jock decides to attack me. They're setting me up. What do you want me to do, let them beat me up?"

"If that's what it takes."

His face was impassive. I took a deep breath. "I can't," I said, "When somebody tries to hit me, I hit back. It's... it's a reflex."

I looked away. I didn't want to explain what I was. Some creepy guy with fighting instincts so deeply ingrained in him that he couldn't control his reaction. It was automatic. I looked at Valerie.

"As long..." I swallowed. "As long as there are witnesses, I'll be alright," I said, "I'll hold back. But I can't promise not to hit anybody if they try to hit me first."

The answer didn't seem to satisfy Mr Lancer completely, but he let it slide. He had us write down our statements and sent us out just as the bell signifying the end of lunch period sounded. We stood in the hallway for a moment, and I tried to think of something to say to her.

"It's alright," she said, "I'm sorry I can't watch over you all the time, seeing as that we only have one class together. Please be careful."

She stood on her toes and pecked me on the cheek. Then she turned around, waved, and walked away to her next class. I watched her go. Then I turned around and walked into the nearest restroom. I chose the stall at the far end, stepped inside and carefully locked the door behind me. Then I opened my bag, dug around the bottom for a moment and retrieved the bottle.

This was a really bad idea. I stared at it for a while, trying to suppress the shaking of my hands. The Cyrillic red letters burned in my eyes, taunting me. Vlad probably had it imported directly from Russia. He had a whole stack of it stashed away in what I took to be some sort of conference room in his big house. He wouldn't miss one small bottle.

I unscrewed the lid and sniffed it. There wasn't much of a smell coming off it, which was a big advantage. I remembered gulping it down early in the morning, the burning in my throat, the feeling of it going down my chest, giving me heartburn. The familiar feeling of drowsiness, the detached feeling in my head when it took it's effect.

My hands were still shaking. I stared at it for a long time, ignoring the tardy bell. Deep inside my throat, my ghost sense tingled. I had some difficulty screwing the lid back on.


	25. On the run again

* * *

**LOST**

**Chapter 25: On the run again  
**

* * *

_The darkness had swallowed me, had pulled me under and seemed to cling to me like it had substance. Like I had substance. There was no difference between me and my surroundings, I was one with the cold concrete of the floor, the steel bars of my prison, the pulsating ectoplasm that was infused in everything to prevent me from escaping as a ghost. I knew I should be able to see, that I had seen it, but I couldn't now. Sounds were there, touch, smells – a stale, moldy smell, combined with sulfur and the foul stench of decay. But no sight._

_Something, someone, moved, I could hear scraping on the floor and then a soft sigh. I tried to move too, but found it almost impossible. The muscles in my arms and legs just wouldn't cooperate. The only thing I could do was twitch. _

_Other sounds. Distant shrieks, something dripping, small paws furrowing. Rats? I shuddered and pushed away the image of small rodents nibbling at my bare feet, because I knew that had actually happened. I remained perfectly still. Maybe they wouldn't notice me._

_Then another sound added to the familiar background sounds, and I wished it hadn't. As long as I could hear the rats and the shrieks, as disturbing as they were, I was being left alone. I wanted to be left alone, in fact, it was really the only wish I had left. Everything else had disappeared, every desire had been brought back to that one simple thing: leave me alone. And they never did._

_Footsteps. There shouldn't be any, ghosts didn't need feet, they could fly. I was sure he was doing it on purpose, to strike fear into me, to increase the dread I was feeling. He was doing an admirable job. I whimpered._

"_Danny!"_

_A voice, hoarse, coming from the other side of the space I was in. Not close, but not too far away either. I tried to move my head, tried to see who was talking, but all was dark. There was a hole in my head, all images were gone, what remained was just feelings and impressions of something... terrifying. I didn't want to remember._

"_Danny, get up, he's coming, Danny come on, try to get up, get up Danny, get up, get up, get up..."_

I jumped up and stumbled backwards until my back hit the wall at the back of the classroom. My chair fell down with a clatter. My breath caught in my throat as I looked around fearfully, expecting a huge white presence with cruel black eyes looming over me. Twenty students stared back at me, surprise, disdain, mockery on their faces. Mr Faluca looking over his shoulder, his hand still hovering at the blackboard, halfway through a complicated looking formula.

"Mr Fenton," he said, "Please sit. This is not a circus."

I tried to get my breathing under control, tried to will my hammering heart to slow down. For a moment, I just couldn't move. My hands were flat against the wall and they wanted to stay there, feel its rough structure with the small holes, remains of something that had long ago been removed from the wall. Yet I had to move. I clenched my fists, bowed my head in order to avoid the stares of my classmates and bend over to pick up my chair. And then my ghost sense went off.

I froze. One panicky thought led me straight back to the dark prison, and again I saw the white ghost, coming at me, only I hadn't really seen him. Imagination, I thought, only my imagination. I knew better of course, but it seemed to help. Slowly, I righted the chair, but didn't sit down.

"Mr Faluca?"

The small teacher turned around, irritated. "Yes, what now, Mr Fenton?"

I swallowed a few times to make my voice sound less raspy. "I need to use the bathroom."

I was already on the move when he waved an impatient consent, already forgetting about me when I reached the door. I heard him scribbling on the blackboard when I softly closed the door behind me. In the hallway, I just stood for a moment, trying to sense which direction I should go to find the ghost. Right, I decided, in the direction of the stairs. But first...

Two steps brought me inside the boys restrooms, which happened to be just across the hall from Mr Falluca's classroom. A bright flash and a chilling feeling later transformed me into Danny Phantom, and I immediately felt better. Mostly, because with the chill of being a ghost also came the numbing of any unpleasant – or pleasant, for that matter – feelings. It was the basis of my so called 'courage'. I seemed fearless when I was a ghost and it was true. Jazz had called me a hero, but there is nothing heroic in being reckless because fear seems a distant feeling at best. There is no courage without fear.

I turned myself invisible and floated through the empty corridor. Vaguely, I could hear teachers lecturing, one class seemed to hold a discussion because several voices were trying to make themselves heard, and I could feel agitation coming from them. I ignored them and searched for the ghost.

Movement at the end of the hallway. Somebody was walking, gliding, towards me. Dark, curly long hair, huge green eyes, flawless skin. She swayed her hips and let her fingers brush the lockers as she moved slowly towards me. She looked straight at me, as if she could see me. Paulina.

Only my ghost sense told me differently.

I shimmered into view, raised my hands and let out a moderately strong ecto blast. The ghost that posed as Paulina was hurled backwards, and with a howl disappeared through the lockers into the locker room. I followed him.

The locker room was dark, the only light came from the high wired glass windows near the ceiling. One of them was slightly ajar, and I felt a soft, warm breeze coming from it. Outside, the trees rustled. Inside, in the shower room, a tap was dripping water, the splashes echoing faintly in the tiled space.

Nothing moved. I smiled a feral smile. Slowly, I moved forward, over the benches, looking around as if I was searching for him. I could feel my green eyes glow in anticipation. This was something I knew. Hunting a ghost, in the school. If I couldn't beat up Dash, at least I could beat the crap out of the foolish ghost that had dared to come within range of my ghost sense.

Suddenly, I shot forward, reached through the lockers and grabbed the ghost that was hiding there by his throat. He squealed and tried to turn himself intangible, but I only had to tighten my grip to prevent him from doing that. Ghosts can go through anything in the real world. With sufficient power however, a ghost can hold on to another ghost. And power was something I had in abundance. I pulled him out of the lockers and stared into his... non-face.

I almost let go in surprise. He whimpered and started protesting in a whiny voice. I shook him to shut him up as I contemplated who I had caught.

Amorpho.

The ghost Jazz and I had been looking for when we had gone to see Clockwork the night before. And here he was, right in front of me. I couldn't believe my luck.

"Amorpho," I said.

My voice was cold and emotionless. I felt the anger rise again, boiling just beneath the surface, but I suppressed it. I needed answers. I could always strangle him later, not to kill him – it'd take something else to actually destroy a ghost – but just for the satisfaction of feeling my hands around his throat. I kept my eyes level as I stared him down.

He didn't so much as avert his eyes – he didn't have them after all – but he managed to give the impression that he did. His lack of a face was creepy. It gave me nothing to latch on to, and I found my eyes trailing the outline of his head instead. I shook myself.

"Maybe," I said, "You want to tell me something."

I had a hard time keeping the anger out of my voice, and I think he saw it, because he started to ramble on about being chased, being hunted, not having a choice. I shook him again, hard.

"Shut up. I don't care about your excuses." I drew him close and tried to stare at the part of his face his eyes should be. "You attacked Mrs Crown. As me. And now they're going to put me away for it. WHY?!" I screamed that last part, suddenly loosing my temper.

Amorpho shrieked and started struggling again, but I squeezed and he started choking. I held on for a moment, contemplating the strange fact that ghosts could choke. A reflex, probably, something that remained from the time they were alive. Squeeze a throat, you choke. I tilted my head and loosened my grip somewhat.

"Please," he wheezed, "I... I was looking for you."

I just stared at him.

"I heard you were looking for me... tried to hide... knew you'd find me anyway... blasted Clockwork."

"You went to see Clockwork?"

I was still angry, but surprise calmed me down somewhat. Amorpho nodded. He looked miserable. I lessened my grip even further, but didn't let go.

"Yes," he said, "Please... you're hurting me."

"Why Paulina?" I asked, thinking about his rather good impersonation in the hallway.

"You... you like her, right?" he said, uncertainty coloring his voice, "I didn't want you to blast me right away, and she's pretty, I thought..."

Somewhere from deep inside of me came the desire to squeeze again, to feel my grip tighten around his throat, to snap the bone inside of it. My hand started to glow green and I knew something must have shown in my eyes because Amorpho suddenly went very still.

_...my hand tightened around her throat, and the little girl started making choking sounds as I squeezed and squeezed until her body went limp..._

With a scream I pushed the faceless ghost away from me. He slammed into the lockers at the other side of the locker room. I just floated there, clenching and unclenching my fists in a fruitless attempt to dissipate the feeling of breaking bone under my fingers. Amorpho looked dazed for a moment, but then peeled himself from the lockers and hovered in front of them. He seemed ready to bolt and I didn't blame him. If it were possible, I'd have run away from me too. A small voice in the back of my head started whispering that that was in fact possible, but I ignored it for the moment.

"I'm sorry," I said.

All fight left me. I let myself sink down on the floor and sat on one of the benches, leaning forward, my elbows on my knees. It was my turn to avert my eyes. I still didn't know what had driven the ghost to impersonate me and then beat up my psychiatrist, but I realized that the impersonation hadn't been that far off. I was a freak, a monster. He had seen it. I looked up and found him still there.

"What?" I asked.

Hesitantly, he came closer.

"Clockwork told me to tell you," he said hesitantly.

Impatience flared. I suppressed it. "Tell me what?"

He started twirling his fingers. "I was forced... he told me to be you. I didn't know what was going to happen. It seemed harmless, and he was threatening to put me in jail because of the cat I brought into the ghost zone... It was such a nice cat, her name was Alice, you know, from Alice in Wonderland, I always liked that story, except for that stupid rabbit, I could never understand why..."

I closed my eyes. Amorpho stopped, seemingly sensing that I was about to get angry again. He cleared his throat.

"Anyway," he said, "I only, I just had to walk there and be you, to get out of prison. I've done you before, and I know you told me not to do that anymore, but he was going to put me in jail and that's no fun at all. And then his goons showed up and they started beating that lady and I ran."

He was silent. I looked down at the floor again. "Who told you to do that?" I asked.

"Walker of course," he said, and the name send a shiver up my spine, "What other ghost prison wardens do you know?"

* * *

Spanish. Last period of the day. Mrs Guzman talking, telling us something with a smile on her face, a smile that only faltered briefly whenever she caught my staring eyes. I was trying to hear what she was saying, because it had occurred to me that if I could concentrate on something else, the tight feeling in my chest would go away and I wouldn't need the contents of the bottle sitting comfortably at the bottom of my bag.

I couldn't understand a word she said.

This was Spanish two, I should have been able to pick up at least some words, but all I heard was gibberish. Mrs Guzman's gaze wandered over the classroom again, rested on me for a moment and then quickly moved away. I realized I was making her uncomfortable. Then I wondered if I would be able to understand her if she just spoke plain English, or if even then all I could hear was an unrelated stream of words, without meaning.

I was losing it.

I looked down at my empty desk, then outside, then at the clock on the wall above the door. Minutes passed by slowly, and I could have sworn that every now and then the hands just stood still for a few minutes. The word crawling didn't even begin to describe the speed with which time was moving.

I thought about Amorpho. He had left soon after he had told me what he had to, and had left me sitting in the locker room, staring at my hands, wondering if I really could strangle someone with them. Sometimes I felt like I could. Finally, I had gone back to the restrooms, transformed back into my human form and had entered Mr Faluca's classroom just as the bell sounded. I hadn't bothered explaining myself for being gone for twenty minutes, but had simply gathered my things and left.

I glanced outside again. We were on the second floor, at the front of the building. I could see the parking lot, full of cars, devoid of people. The road beyond, traffic passing by, cars, trucks, some maniac on a motorcycle, its sound rumbling heavily, making the glass clatter in the window sill. A familiar limousine, pulling up.

I sank down in my chair, though there really was no need for it. Nate couldn't see me here, even if he knew I was up here. Besides, I didn't fear Nate. He was actually a nice guy. What he was doing working for Vlad I had no idea.

Nate got out of the car and leaned against it, watching the school. He was early. There were still five minutes of class left and I had to go to my locker to retrieve my stuff. He'd have to wait at least fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes, I realized, when more and more students started looking out of the window, in which the whole school got to have a very good look at my present form of transportation. I sank down deeper and studied the edge of the table.

The bell rang in the middle of a sentence Mrs Guzman was speaking, and the sudden noise was almost overwhelming. I jumped at the sound and almost fell out of my chair, earning me a few giggles from two girls sitting close to me. I glared at them. They paled and quickly started gathering their stuff, looking away from me and avoiding my eyes. Good.

Slowly, I pushed myself up, grabbed my bag and slung it over my right shoulder. Then, intending to take my time going to my locker, I glanced outside once more. And froze.

Nate was talking to someone, two someones, and gesturing at the school. Two men in suits were standing there, the one slightly taller than the other. When Nate pointed at the school, one of them looked around and glanced at the entrance. My heart started pounding in my chest.

Detective Raskin. Somewhere, deep inside of me, the now familiar panicky feeling started to rise up again. There was only one reason the man would be here. He was going to arrest me again, throw me in jail and probably throw away the key. My breathing sped up, and I watched as the other detective, a smaller man with dark brown hair, pulled out a notebook and started scribbling something down.

"Daniel?"

I couldn't move. I just stood there, staring, frozen on the spot. The classroom was quiet now, everybody had left. I could see the first students spilling out into the parking lot, walking in groups of two or three, finding their cars by holing up their keys and pressing the door open button. All over the parking lot, lights were flashing. I had no idea how they thought to find their particular flash between all the others. If I wasn't so scared, I'd have found it funny.

"...Daniel, can I help you with something?"

I managed to turn away from the window and looked at the woman standing a few feet away from me, wringing her hands. I blinked at her. Who wrings their hands these days? It took me a moment to remember her name. Mrs Guzman. Spanish teacher. I just spent an hour listening to her. Then I looked at the clock and realized it was already five past. I should leave.

"No," I croaked, "I'm fine. I... I have to leave."

I brushed past her, almost fell into the hallway and then practically ran into the nearest bathroom. I reached the stall just in time, and spent a few minutes emptying my already empty stomach. I hadn't had a chance to eat my lunch, and the last thing I ate were the two pieces of toast Vlad had forced me to eat that morning. I dry-heaved for a while, gasping for air and suppressing the sobs that threatened to choke me. When my stomach finally quieted down I let myself sink on the floor next to the toilet, half leaning on it, and shakily wiped the sweat off my brow.

This wasn't working. I couldn't go on like this, I was completely wiped out. They would start looking for me soon, I knew, and I needed to get out of there, needed to keep myself together. I needed... something to sustain me, if only for a little while.

Weakly, I grabbed my bag and started feeling around in it. I almost panicked again when I didn't find it immediately, but then my hand closed around the familiar smooth, cold surface of the small bottle of Vodka. I took it out, unscrewed the lid and quickly took a swig before I could change my mind. Like that morning, the alcohol burned in my throat, and I started coughing. My stomach lurched, and for a moment I thought I would throw up again. I took another swig. My stomach quieted down.

I sat there for a while, staring at the bottle, every now and then taking a sip until I felt the effects of the alcohol take a hold of me. Then, before I could get too drunk, I screwed the lid back on. There was only a little bit left. I might need it later and besides, I couldn't escape if I was drunk. I needed to be calm and collected and mostly sober.

I left the stall, splashed some water in my face and studiously avoided my reflection in the mirror. I had a pretty good idea of what I looked like and I didn't want to find out that I actually looked worse. Then I stood straight, squared my shoulders and transformed into Danny Phantom. For a moment I hovered. Then I grabbed the hinges of my bag tightly, turned myself invisible and intangible, and flew through the roof.

I had no idea where to go, so I ended up going back to the 'scene of the crime', as they always say. I flew all the way out to Lake Eerie, weaved my way through the woods until I reached the small, secluded campsite. It was deserted, the detectives and the forensics people had taken everything with them. It was just a clearing in the woods now, a quiet place right next to the stream and the waterfall. A pretty place. The sun was barely able to reach the ground, but did manage to light up the waterfall, giving it an almost golden shine. Birds were singing. Something living rustled the bushes. Ghosts were nearby, but hiding.

I sat down on the same rock I had been sitting on before and dropped my bag in the grass. Being Danny Phantom had several advantages. Flying was one, obviously, as was being able to escape any police officer ever by going invisible and intangible. It also made me feel more distant from the world. Emotions were somehow dulled. I didn't feel pain a strongly, not only physical pain, but also, more importantly at the moment, emotional pain. Being a ghost sort of put things in perspective. I could think more clearly.

Of course it also prevented me from feeling happiness, but as I hardly knew what that feeling was like I didn't feel too bad about that. Happiness would come later, when I'd found Sam and Tucker. And since my life had just gone down the drain, with me making it worse by running away, that was the only thing left to me. I could never go back, not to school, my parents, Jazz... Vlad. I shuddered at the thought of him. He'd tear me apart if he found me. I couldn't fight him, he was so much stronger than I was. The only thing I could do when I spotted him was run like hell.

I chuckled bitterly. Some hero I was.

I watched the stream, the waterfall, the trees. Time passed by, the shadows of the trees moved and got longer. Then, with a last glint, the sun was suddenly no longer shining on the waterfall and the place seemed to darken. I could feel the ghost stir, but I wasn't worried. They were small ghosts, animals, scurrying around in the shadows and the darkness. I could handle a few glowing green rodents.

When it got really dark, I transformed back into Danny Fenton, and immediately shivered. It was still summer, but the evenings definitely got colder by the day, and I was only wearing a t-shirt and my cargo pants, no jacket. Without a second thought, I stuck my hand in my bag, retrieved the bottle and quickly drained it to the last drop. I was beyond caring.

I stared at the empty bottle for a while, feeling the loss. Of what, I wasn't exactly sure. My innocence, the last remnants of my former self, my dignity? Or maybe just the alcohol I had run out of. I staggered a little and cursed. In a sudden fit of rage I threw the bottle in the air, pointed my finger at the rotating thing and blasted it. It shattered and shards of glass rained down on me, luckily not injuring me too badly but only causing a few minor cuts. They'd fade away quickly, as was the bruise on my face, which I knew to be coloring a yellowish green by now. A day, two at the most, and it would be completely gone. Another proof of my weirdness. Good thing I ran away. I wouldn't have to explain myself now.

When I realized what I was thinking, I started laughing again. Like that afternoon at lunch, when Dash had grabbed me, the irony of the situation hit me full force. I felt the hysteria rise up in me and I laughed even harder. The police was after me in the real world, Walker was after me in the ghost zone. I had nowhere to go. The magnitude of the mess I was in was staggering. And ridiculously funny. Then the pain in my chest kicked in and I wanted to cry, but managed to stop myself. It did help me to get myself under control again though.

I climbed back onto my rock and wrapped my arms around my knees. I was really getting cold now. I wanted to leave, but somehow I couldn't. I was waiting for something, some epiphany, a piece of lost memory perhaps, something. Because I couldn't accept the fact that there was nothing. We disappeared here. There had to be a clue. Not a physical one, the police had searched the area pretty thoroughly, but a metaphysical one. Something only I could see.

I reached, and let the two white rings travel over my body again. My senses were better that way, the alcohol didn't bother me as much and besides, when in ghost form I couldn't get cold. Even the hunger was less prominent. And it didn't look like I was going to get something to eat soon, unless I was prepared to catch and roast a squirrel or something.

It was getting really dark now. The forest was a wall of trees at the edge of the clearing, slowly filling up with sounds of the night. An owl in the distant. Crickets, chirping. Ghosts, drawing near, sending shivers up my spine and causing an ever increasing blue streak of mist to escape from my mouth.

And something else.

It had been there before, I had felt it before, but dismissed it. It was another fissure, a remnant of a portal, remnants I could feel when close by. An ability, I realized, I hadn't had before. It hadn't been on the list of things I could do, the list stored on the memory stick which Jazz kept for me.

It was nothing. There were many temporary portals to the ghost zone here, the very reason this forest was haunted. They were small, thin lines, like scars on the fabric of reality. When I moved through the forest I only had to extend my hands and feel around for a bit, and then I felt one.

Which made it strange I could feel a fissure from thirty feet away.

I got up and hovered. I stared at the waterfall. The feeling I had seemed to indicate that whatever it was exactly I was feeling, it was coming from there. Slowly, I moved forward. The water looked white against the black background of rock. It splashed down from great hight, and for a moment I looked up to the top of the cliff and beyond, noting the staggering brightness of the stars in the sky. Then I turned myself intangible and moved through the waterfall.

Somehow I wasn't that surprised, finding myself in a cave behind the waterfall. I held out my hand, formed a small glowing green ball and used it as a makeshift torch. Then I looked around.

I saw it almost immediately. A shimmering at the back of the cave, hardly visible, like looking at a hair that's right in front of your eyes. In fact, I couldn't focus on it at all, which made me realize I wasn't actually looking at it with my eyes. I was looking at it with my mind. If I had a heartbeat, it would have been hammering in my chest. It was huge. No wonder I had felt it from a distance.

My eyes drifted through the cave, taking in the details, the uneven ground, the dents and holes in the wall, and ceiling... and a battered, blackened Fenton thermos, laying half buried all the way in the back, right beneath where the opening to the ghost zone had been. With a cry, I darted forward and knelt-hovered down by it. The cap was off. It was covered with soot and dust and half filled with grains of sand and small pebbles.

Tentatively, I grabbed it and pulled it out. I stared at it for a while, but other than telling me that a fight probably had taken place here in the confined space of the cave it didn't help me much. I started searching the floor more thoroughly, and after a while found two damaged ecto guns. Both were blackened and dented and probably could never be used again. Then I studied the walls more closely and found almost immediately what I expected to find: scorch marks.

A fight. Short and intense. And having something to do with the portal that had been there at the time, I was sure of it. I ran my fingers over the thin line in the air, close to the back of the cave. I could feel its ragged edges, fused together again but leaving a scar. There was something familiar about it, something I should know. I closed my eyes and clenched my fists. There had to be something in my mind, some memory of what had happened here. But if there was, I couldn't reach it.

I opened my eyes again and willed my weightless body to the ground. I put my back against the wall and leaned against it. I was tired and I wasn't thinking straight because of said tiredness and probably the alcohol. I could still feel it running through my system, even when I was a ghost. I closed my eyes. My mind started to drift all by its own, turning and swirling in an almost nauseating way. Vaguely, I felt my ghost form leave me, a wave of warmth washing over me followed by shivering because of the cold in the cave, and then I knew no more.

* * *

Awakening was slow and painful. First, I became aware of the sound of the waterfall, the ever present clattering of the water falling on the rocks. Immediately after that, I felt a pain in my back and more importantly in my head. My mouth was dry and I had trouble swallowing. I groaned and opened my eyes.

The cave was dimly lit, daylight shining in through the waterfall. I stared at the water for a while, trying to process the fact that it was in fact day. How long had I slept? I moved my arms and was treated with a stinging feeling in my left arm because I had lain on it and had cut off most of the blood supply to it.

Ten AM. I stared at my watch in disbelieve. I had slept the whole night without interruption and then slept well into the morning as well. I hadn't slept this long since... since as far back as I could remember. Which meant never.

I still didn't remember.

Coming here hadn't solved anything, hadn't brought me any insight into what happened at all, apart from the fact that some sort of fight had taken place. We had been taken right here to... to where? The ghost zone. Somewhere in the ghost zone were my two friends who counted on me to get them out. Who would probably resent me by now because I was free and they were still captured and I didn't make a move to get them.

Then I started thinking about Walker again, and I tried to remember what he looked like from the files on the memory stick Jazz and I had studied. There had been a sketch of him, done by Sam again, an impression of a white ghost with black eyes, wearing a hat. I had trouble picturing him though. I blinked a few times and tried again. From now on, I'd have to do everything from memory, because Jazz had the memory stick. Maybe I could go and talk to her later for a bit.

She'd probably tell me to give myself up. And then I would have to go back to prison. And they would find out about the liquor store, because I had run away from Vlad and he'd show them the tape.

I had some trouble pushing the frightening resemblance of Walker to the impression I had of the ghost in my nightmare away. After all, I hadn't really seen him. Maybe it was just a projection of my fear. But it wouldn't go away.

I pushed myself from the wall I had been leaning uncomfortably against, staggered to my feet and stumbled to the entrance of the cave, the waterfall. I held out my hands and splashed some water in my face, then drank some. I felt dizzy from the lack of food, but otherwise I felt a little better. I was just about to phase through the waterfall as not to get wet when I heard them.

Voices. Somebody calling out to somebody else, just outside the waterfall, somewhere in the clearing. I froze. This was a very hard to reach, extremely remote spot in the forest. This was no place for hikers to come. How had they found me?

I turned myself invisible and intangible, and phased outside, making sure to keep out of the way of the two policemen that were searching the clearing. One of them held something up, and I recognized my backpack that I had carelessly left laying there. He said something to the other man, and then the both of them started looking at the ground, which I had of course hardly stepped on.

Then they tried to search the thick vegetation that surrounded the clearing, but they had a hard time doing that. Nobody could come through there, not unless you were a ghost, and they seemed to reach that same conclusion very quickly. The policeman who had found my backpack pulled out his radio and started talking into it, but I couldn't hear what he was saying due to the noise the waterfall was making. I was just about to move closer when he put down my backpack and started rummaging through it, still talking into the radio, no doubt describing the contents of the bag.

Most noticeably probably it being my name in huge print just on the inside of the bag.

I withdrew into my cave. I watched them for a while as they kept looking around for clues as to where I had disappeared to, but they never looked twice at the waterfall. I was pretty safe where I was. Still, it was a stupid mistake to leave my bag out there like that.

When they finally left, I left the cave again, transformed into Danny Phantom and took to the air, gaining height quickly. While watching the policemen, a plan had formed in my mind. A dangerous, stupid, rekless plan. And since I had nothing left to lose now, I was going to go right ahead and do it. With some luck, it would lead me to Sam and Tucker. If not... well, I would probably deserve whatever happened to me then.


	26. It can only get worse

A/N: Any reviews I haven't answered yet, I'm getting to them, honestly.

* * *

**LOST**

**Chapter 26: It can only get worse**

* * *

Amity Park was shining brilliantly in the sunlight. I had to squint my eyes every now and then when I caught the sun's bright beams reflecting in the windows of some building. Somehow, from up here, the town seemed friendlier, cleaner. I could see people down there, walking in the street, small and almost insignificant. Small people with small problems. I smiled a little. I'd love to lose myself in small problems. As I was watching the people down below, I spotted another liquor store. Strange, how many of them there were in this town, or maybe I just never noticed them before. I hesitated, knowing I could just go in there, invisible, and take whatever I needed. If I left money on the counter, it wouldn't even be stealing.

Tempting. But no. I didn't have time for it, and I couldn't afford to have my senses dulled at the moment, however much I wanted to. Besides, I wasn't some alcoholic who couldn't live without his drink. I didn't need it. Also, I felt distinctly hungover. I filed the thought away for later reference and continued on, until I reached the house with the strange contraption on top of it and the huge neon sign reading 'Fenton Works'. My home. Longingly, I looked down at it, noting the fact that the GAV was parked right in front of it, but not Jazz's pink convertible. My parents were home, Jazz wasn't. Now what.

Slowly circling the place, I tried to decide what to do. I needed to go in there for my plan, I needed to be in the lab and I definitely needed the ghost portal. I didn't need my parents present, as much as I wanted to see them. My father's goofy grin came to mind and the friendly smile on my mother's face, and for a moment I wanted to give it all up, just to see them again, to belong again. But that was impossible.

I drifted down until my feet touched the ops center. The ghost shield was off, which didn't surprise me. It required a huge amount of electricity, so to keep the already huge utilities bill within limits – I wasn't sure which limits they had in mind, but that was what I had been told – they only turned it on 'in case of an emergency'. What emergency, they didn't specify. Jazz had waved her hands and had said she'd tell me about it some other time, but she never got around to it since I got arrested. The fact that it was off suited me fine now.

I touched down on the roof and called out my human form. The fact that the ghost shield was off didn't mean that they didn't have all sorts of other ghost detection devices on. I knew they wouldn't pick me up if I was human, and I didn't know the exact range of them. I was pretty safe on the roof and in my own room though, so I let myself sink through the ops center right into my room and dropped down on the bed.

An instant, the world stopped. I was in my room, on my bed, with my computer standing on my desk. Familiar blue walls. The sun shining through the window, making a huge square pattern on the floor. I had lost it, found it and now I lost it again. It was too much. I felt my throat constrict. My hands, my arms, my whole body started to shake. I crawled to the head of the bed, pushed my back against the wall and wrapped my arms around my legs.

I shouldn't have come here. Being in my room, so close to normalcy yet so far away from it, it hurt too much. But I had nowhere else to go. I needed to be here. I buried my head between my knees and waited, hoping that the feeling would pass, feeling a painful longing for the vodka in Vlad's house. For a moment, I contemplated getting some, sneaking into his house and raiding his supply, but dismissed it as too dangerous. Vlad would catch me, he had a fairly accurate tracking device. Then I wondered if he was tracking me right now, and that almost sent me back into a panic. Vlad couldn't find me. Once he got a hold of me, he'd disable my ghost powers and keep me under lock and key for the rest of my life. I had to move now.

With some difficulty, I got up from the bed and tiptoed to the door, fighting down the anxiety that made me just want to run, run, run. Once there, I hesitated. I wasn't sure using my ghost powers in the house wouldn't set off some sort of ghost alarm. Then I shrugged. It couldn't be helped. I couldn't let my parents see me. I turned invisible and intangible and walked straight through the door, down the stairs, into the living room. There, I stopped.

Voices in the kitchen. My father, trying to convince my mother that they would find me, I couldn't have gone far, and hadn't I told them multiple times I wouldn't kill myself? My mother remained silent. I sneaked closer and peered inside. She was just sitting there, holding a coffee mug with the words 'World's Greatest Mom' on it. She wasn't drinking from it, just holding it with both hands and staring down at its contents. She looked forlorn.

I caused that.

I suppressed the sudden impulse to rush forward and hug them both. Instead, I turned and rushed down the stairs.

The basement was sparsely lit, the ceiling lights were out, but several dials, screens and meters were giving off a glow that was enough to see by. The door to the weapons vault was closed, locked probably, but that wouldn't bother me. I just hoped it was there.

Silently, I walked to it and then through it. Once inside, I lit up a small green glowing ecto ball, which lit up the numerous racks, shelves and boxes. Two huge Fenton Bazookas hung on the wall, neatly held by their custom made clamps. And next to them, the thing was looking for: the Fenton Tracker. The device my father had shown me a little over a week ago, which seemed a lifetime ago to me now. Being shot with it would attach a tracking device to a ghost.

I took a deep breath and grabbed it. It was heavy. My father had swung it around easily, but I almost dropped it when I pulled it from the shelf. The barrel was short, fortunately, short enough for what I had in mind. I had contemplated asking Jazz's help for this, but had dismissed it almost immediately. She would refuse. I wanted to leave her no choice but to go along. Her not being at home helped achieving that goal, because I was sure she would have known I was there almost instantly. I don't know how she did it, but she always knew.

I phased back to the lab and placed the gun on one of the tables, moving some of the clutter that was on it aside to make room, making sure I didn't make too much noise. Numerous papers with schematics, partially disassembled household equipment and some old cookies, all piled together as if the man working here didn't see the difference between his work and his food. I smiled wistfully at the thought of my father.

I checked the gun again. It was turned off. I let my fingers slide over it, feeling the steel make of it, the switches, the seams. I heaved it up and held it close to my face, peering through the sight. Then my fingers found the small hatch and I opened it.

It was loaded with a small, spider like device, transparent but for a tiny microprocessor chip embedded in it. It looked extremely advanced, and I immediately dismissed the idea that my father had made it. This was my mother's work, which encouraged me. It might actually work. The spider device would attach itself to a ghost, so it could be tracked. I hoped that also meant it could be tracked inside the ghost zone. In fact, that was a major flaw in my plan. I hadn't checked it would work. No time for it now though.

I looked around, rummaged through some drawers and managed to pull out a crumbled piece of paper and a pen that worked. I put the piece of paper on the table, straightened it a bit with my hand and started to write.

_Jazz,_

_Don't be mad, or be mad, I don't care, but I've gone into the ghost zone to find Sam and Tucker. I think Walker has something to do with it. He's the one who framed me for the attack on Mrs Crown._

_If I'm not back tomorrow, do whatever you have to do. I put a tracking device on me, the one from the Fenton Ghost Tracker._

_Danny_

I read it over once but couldn't find anything wrong with it. I scratched out the 'tomorrow' part and changed it to 'two days', since one day seemed too short for what I had in mind. I needed time to maneuver. She'd be mad. But she would do the right thing, which was tell my parents where to find me if I didn't come back. I was sure of that. For a moment I felt guilty, because she would be worried sick for two days, but then I dismissed it. I was sure I'd be back before that time was up, and I had to find Sam and Tucker. And if I didn't... well, at least this time they'd know what happened to me.

I looked around and studied the ghost equipment. I couldn't make out what exactly they were all doing, but one, I knew. A ghost detector. I walked to it and turned it off. Then I transformed into my ghostly self, grabbed the note, flew through the ceiling, invisible, and deposited the note on Jazz's desk in her room. She was sure to find it there when she got home.

Quickly, I sank back to the lab. I listened for a while to the sounds of the house and the slight murmur of voices coming from the kitchen. Now or never. I grabbed the gun, wrestled with it for moment and then managed to place the barrel against my left shoulder. With some difficulty, I could still reach the trigger. I put my finger on it.

This was a really dumb idea. A stupid, reckless plan. Not much of a plan either. I had contamplated finding Walker and shooting him with it, but had dismissed it as too dangerous. There was no way he wouldn't notice. It wouldn't work. I needed a bait, and I was the perfect candidate for it.

My finder twitched, but still, I held back. Despite the numerous injuries I had sustained fighting ghosts, or people, I wasn't big on pain And this would probably hurt. I squeezed my eyes shut and pulled the trigger.

Something slammed into my shoulder and I stumbled backwards. The gun fell to the floor with a clatter and I looked fearfully at the stairs. The murmur of voices had stopped. Had they heard me? My shoulder was strangely numb and I Looked down at it. The spidery device was firmly attached to it. I raised my hand and felt it, tried to brush it off, but it remained firmly attached to my black hazmat suit. I relaxed. This wasn't half bad.

And then the pain started. The device moved, dug its claws in and started wiggling, digging into me, squirming to get under my skin. I opened my mouth to scream but managed to stop myself. Instead, I let myself drop to the floor on my knees and pressed my fists against my forehead. It was like being stabbed again and again. I dared peek at my shoulder for a moment, and I saw green ectoplasm leaking out of the small wound. The device moved inside my shoulder, wedged itself inside so there was no way to get it out. Still, I didn't make a sound, and that's why I heard the footsteps on the stairs.

They had heard something. I had to get out of there quickly. I started hovering, clutching my shoulder, and moved to the red button that would open the doors to the ghost zone. The footsteps reached the bottom of the stairs.

"Danny?"

I pressed the button and looked up at Jazz, standing at the bottom of the stairs, still holding her bag which contained her books. I didn't say anything. She would just have to read the note. She dropped the bag and started to rush forward.

"Oh, thank God, you're alright," she said, "We were all so worried, the police..."

"I'm going," I said harshly, "Don't try to stop me, Jazz. There's a note on your desk. I'm not going back to prison."

"No!" she cried out and tried to reach me. There was no way she could though. "Danny, wait!" she yelled, "It's not what you think, wait!"

I picked up speed and dove into the portal, letting the green of the ghost zone engulf me. I sped away from the still open portal, increasing my speed until everything around me was just a green blur. I felt the energies around me swirl and glide past me, felt the shifts and changes in the zone as I moved through it, felt its strange pulse resonating in my body.

I belonged.

I closed my eyes. The pain in my shoulder subsided. The tracking device had reached its destination. I slowed down and opened my eyes again. Then I stopped and simply hovered. I was a long distance away from the portal now, there was no way Jazz would find me even if she had immediately jumped in the Specter Speeder to follow me in. Which she wouldn't. She knew she would never catch me anyway.

I inspected my shoulder. Green ectoplasm still stained my suit, but other than that, it didn't hurt too much. Just a slight soreness. Nothing to worry about. I vaguely wondered what would happen if I turned human with that thing in there and decided immediately that I wasn't going to find out. At least, not until it was all over. I didn't care what happened after I found Sam and Tucker.

Letting myself drift on the strange currents of the ghost zone, I tried to get my bearings. I hadn't brought the map, but I had studied it so many times, staring at it until my eyes hurt, that I had practically memorized it. I needed to go into the direction of Clockwork's castle. That would bring me close to Walker's prison, and Walkers goons had tried to attack me there as well. They were watching the area. I was pretty sure I would succeed with the first part of my plan, letting myself get captured. It was what would happen after that that worried me a bit, but not too much. According to the report on the memory stick, I could easily escape his prison by simply turning human.

After passing some purple doors and a strange, mouth like cavern full of teeth, I decided to deviate from the current and move to the right. I passed more doors, more strange forms and shapes, and some islands. I ignored them all. My goal was ahead, and I kept a firm grip on it. I couldn't let myself think of the consequences of my actions, the possibilities, the ways it could go wrong. Most notably the scenario in which Walker had nothing to do with Sam and Tucker's disappearances and was just being his annoying self.

One thing at at time.

I was starting to get a bit impatient when I neared Clockwork's liar and passed the prison in the distance. In fact, I was just about to wonder if I had to go and just knock on Walker's door to get his attention, when I was blasted in the back.

* * *

The fight was violent, painful and short. About twenty goons dropped down on me and started hitting me with their nightsticks. I hit them right back, kicking and punching and firing ecto blasts that sent them hurling. I managed to hold them off for exactly thirty seconds. I knew because I had an excellent view on Clockworks' big clock tower which was ticking away the seconds. I wondered if Clockwork was watching and decided that yes, he was. Which probably meant that he meant for this to happen, or at least had foreseen it and hadn't done anything to prevent it. I hated him.

Twenty was too much of course. In the end, it took about five of them to hold me down and one to hold his nightstick against my abdomen, smile wickedly at me and then press some button. After that, everything went blurry, and the fact that I had managed to knock ten of them out only barely registered. They picked me up and dragged me to the ugly white structure that was Walker's prison.

As soon as we got inside, they dropped me. I fell down on my hands and knees, shaking my head in a futile attempt to clear it from the buzz I was hearing. I tried to move, tried to get up because their repeated kicking me and yelling at me seemed to indicate that that was what they wanted me to do, but I just couldn't. For a moment, I considered turning human right then and there and get the hell out of there, but then I would have achieved nothing. I remained as I was.

In the end, two of the guards grabbed my arms, put them over their shoulders and dragged me to what turned out to be an office of some sort, dragging my feet on the ground. Inside, they dropped me in a chair standing in front of an enormous desk. I almost slid down on the floor, but one of them grabbed me and jerked me upright. I managed to stay seated after that.

"Well, punk. It seems my little plan to drive you out of your human world into the ghost zone worked after all."

If I thought before that my ghost form made me insensitive to fear, I was wrong. The deep voice stirred something deep inside of me, and any strength I had left seeped out of me. Dread filled me. This was it. Every nightmare, every despairing moment in which I had wanted to turn to alcohol, any thought of ending it all to be rid of the pain, it all started here.

"Look at me."

I couldn't. I didn't want to. I wanted to retreat inside myself, wanted to shut out the world. I did not want to face him. I looked up anyway.

Huge white ghost. Black eyes with a glint of green in them that seemed to be dripping with evil. Sneer on his face. Hat.

"W-Walker," I said. I was surprised I still had a voice.

Next thing I knew I was on the floor, toppled backwards over the back of my chair, my jaw burning from the punch he had thrown me. I remained where I was for a moment and stared up at the ceiling, a sight which was quickly replaced by the white prison warden.

"Mr Walker to you, punk," he said, "It's in the rules."

I tried to scramble away from him but was quickly stopped by the two goons that had remained. Walker stepped closer, slowly and deliberately, and kicked me in the stomach. I wanted to curl myself into a ball and hold my stomach, but the two goons grabbed my arms and heaved me up. I hung between them, unable to stand on my feet and feeling nauseous.

"Well?" Walker asked.

I moved my mouth but no sound came out. I was starting to think this had been a very bad idea. I should have thought it through more thoroughly. I had no proof Walker had Sam and Tucker. I only had proof the ghost hated me, but that wasn't anything to be surprised about because practically every ghost hated me. I should get out of there in a hurry and start over...

I reached. I forgot about the ghost tracker in my shoulder, but simply let the two rings turn me human again. Immediately, a fierce pain shot through my shoulder, but I managed to bite it down. I stood up and stepped through the goons that were trying to grab me. I turned to the scary white prison warden to say something, but found that I couldn't. So I just turned around and ran.

Two steps. That was as far as I got. Something slammed into me, something cold and dark and infinitely evil. I had been overshadowed before, by Vlad no less, and that had been extremely unpleasant. This was worse.

I lost control almost immediately. Frozen on the spot, I just stood there, staring at the door. I felt every fiber of my being tense up as the evil spirit tried out my muscles, blinked my eyes, held up my hands in front of them and curled my fingers experimentally. Like with Vlad, I could only watch.

"Well now," I said in a deep voice, "You thought you could just walk out of here, like the last time. Or the time before that. Didn't you."

I could feel his thoughts. Unbidden, they came to me as his mind touched mine. He blinked a few times and smiled and I could feel his amusement.

"You like to watch, punk?" he hissed.

_A dusty road. Tumbleweeds, blown by the wind, disappearing behind some wooden houses. The sun, shining mercilessly down. I moved through the town, walking in the middle of the road. I wasn't worried. Nobody challenged me, this was my town. I drew my black hat further down, to protect my eyes from the bright glitter of sunlight reflecting in the windows._

_A soft murmur of voices, around the corner. Subdued. I smiled. They'd get the message now. This town needed order. Rules. And I was there to bring it to them. I knew they were staring at me hatefully as I rounded the corner, but I didn't look at them. My trusty deputies were standing on the porch of the police station, holding their guns nervously. They shouldn't worry either. We were the law. _

_In the middle of the square, the scaffold. Five ropes, hanging down. Three men, two boys, standing there, their hands tied behind their backs._

Nonononono, I thought, trying to push Walker's mind away from me. I didn't want to see it, didn't want to watch. Somehow, he grabbed me though, forced my eyes open, forced me closer.

_The nooses were around their necks, their heads were covered by black sacks. The crowd had gone unusually silent. Somewhere on the other side, a woman started wailing, then was suddenly cut off. I nodded at the hangman. He pulled the lever. Five bodies fell down and started twitching and kicking. Two died almost immediately, probably from a broken neck. The others took longer. I watched._

Tears were streaming from my eyes. Somehow, I still had control over that. Or maybe Walker just allowed me to. I felt myself laugh.

"Liked the sight, did you?" he asked.

I wanted to shake my head, wanted to scream, but I couldn't. I should never have turned myself human, made myself vulnerable like that. I shouldn't have reminded Walker of what I was. I felt him push me further away, felt him force me into the dark world of his twisted mind. Everywhere I looked, there was death. Hangings. Shootings, execution style. Then further along, as his obsession grew and his hold on his sanity lessened, torture.

I tried to claw my way out, tried to run, tried to hide, but the images were everywhere. I couldn't stop it. In the end, I just held still and watched, letting it flow over me. And then I was back. Walker was right in front of me.

"You're a ghost," he said.

I didn't think anymore. He was right. I was a ghost. Obediently, I transformed back into my ghost form. I couldn't keep my head up and let it fall forward. The two goons grabbed my arms before I could fall forward.

Walker didn't like that. His hand shot forward and grabbed me painfully by the chin, forcing me to look up into his eyes. He squeezed. I groaned.

"S-stop," I managed to choke out, "I... stop. Please." He squeezed harder. "Please. Sir, Mr Walker. Sir."

He let go and stepped back. The two goons let go of me and I managed to stay on my feet, swaying. Walker smiled.

"Very good," he said, "My little pet half ghost. I see you remember the rules I taught you."

He looked behind me and nodded. I half turned, but before I knew it a nightstick connected to the back of my knees, and suddenly I found myself on my knees in front of Walker. He bend over a little and looked down on me.

"Punk," he said, "Please recite to me rule number sixty eight."

"Always follow the directions of the prison warden or one of his deputies," I said.

"Forty one."

"Always address the prison warden with sir or Mr Walker."

"One hundred and twenty one."

"No real world items in the ghost zone."

He moved closer, until his face was only inches away from mine. "Five."

My stomach churned. I felt sick. "N-no escaping," I said.

Hands grabbed me again, forced me back on my feet, dragged me backwards towards the door. I didn't struggle, didn't fight. I couldn't fight this. This was way beyond my worst nightmares, this was total and utter helplessness. Any control I had had over myself was gone, any last drop of hope I had to find my friends, set them free and go and salvage what was left of my life down the drain. I was nothing. A nobody. A useless wreck in the hands of a cruel prison guard.

"Teach him a lesson," Walker said, "But don't damage him too much. I want him to be able to pick up where he left off later."

The most frightening thing was that I was actually comforted by the 'don't damage him too much' part.


	27. Rules

**

* * *

**

LOST

**Chapter 27: Rules**

* * *

Scraping. Footsteps, slightly out of sync. Very annoying. I listened to it for a while, trying to find a pattern, but there just wasn't any. Flashes of light, green light, a feeling of movement, of floating. I was on my stomach, face down, pushed painfully against some bars. Metal bars, infused with ectoplasm. I could feel its coldness, its tingling. Then falling, going down, a sudden stop. Blackness again.

The second time I awoke, I was upright. Sort of. It took me a while to filter out the current pain from the pain all over my body. Vaguely, I remembered them hitting me, but I wasn't sure that really happened because I'd had dreams like that too. Still, the fact that there wasn't a bruise-free spot on my body indicated that this memory probably was true.

My arms hurt. They were almost torn out of their sockets because I was being dragged again. My feet were on the floor, dragging, hitting every bump. They were simply pulling my arms, assuming that the rest of my body would follow where the arms went. I groaned.

One of the goons dropped my arm in surprise. I opened my eyes with some difficulty, and had the satisfaction of seeing him back away from me. I tried to snarl at him but failed miserably, mostly because my face hurt. The other goon, however, wasn't so easily intimidated.

"Get his arm," he growled.

For good measure, or to show the other goon he had complete control over me, he gave a particularly hard pull at my arm. I yelped in pain. The other goon shot forward and grabbed my other arm again. They dragged me, and there was nothing I could do about it.

Suddenly they stopped, and I heard keys rattle. A door opened with a squeak, and in we went. Then another door, with another squeak, and suddenly I was on the floor. I tried to move, tried to roll on my side, but quickly discovered I was more comfortable on my back. The ghosts moved away, I could hear their receding footsteps, the closing of the doors, the echoing of their voices.

I was alone.

I moved my hands, tried to feel the floor, tried to feel around me. Cold concrete. I opened my eyes. The ceiling was dark, but the edges gave off a soft glow. I could barely see anything. With some difficulty, I rolled my head to the side. Bars, from the ceiling to the floor. A door in the middle, firmly closed. Some sort of pathway, then more bars, more cells. I was in some sort of middle aged prison. Only the floor and the walls seemed to be made of concrete. I looked closer. Special concrete. I pressed my hands against it and tried intangibility. No dice.

I waited for a bit, trying to muster up enough energy to roll over and push myself up. It was quiet in here, the other cells seemed empty. I wondered where I was. I couldn't really remember how long it had taken them to get me here. They had knocked me senseless, but not completely unconscious, I had been aware of them moving me as my surroundings faded in and out of focus, never long enough to really make an impression. I didn't know if I was still in Walker's prison, or if they had taken me somewhere completely different.

And the place definitely was different. For once, I couldn't phase through the floor, ghost or human. That made it special. I hadn't know places like these existed. But then again, Walker had to have made special arrangements for me if he wanted to keep me in.

A sound, coming from the cell next to mine.

I moved my hands aimlessly for a moment, then painfully rolled on my right side to look. A dark figure moved, got up from the floor and seemed to look in my direction. Then he jumped up, rushed to the bars that separated my cell from his and grabbed the bars.

"Danny?"

An unfamiliar voice, male. I tried to see his face, but it was too dark in there.

"Danny, are you alright? What happened, where have you been, we were worried sick when you didn't come back... Danny?"

That last part came out uncertainly, as if he suddenly realized my lack of response meant something. And it did. I couldn't speak for a moment, as the realization hit me just who was talking to me. Through all the pain, all the fear, all the helplessness, my plan had worked wonderfully. I had ended up right where I wanted to be.

"Tucker?" I asked, coughing a few times to clear my throat, "Is that you?"

"Who else would I be, dude?" There was a smile in his voice. "Where have you been? What happened to you? Did you finally manage to create a portal?"

A portal? I rolled a bit further, put both my hands on the floor and pushed myself up. I remained on my hands and knees for a moment, that simple movement almost being too much already. My head spun.

"Danny, are you alright?"

Worry had replaced the easy banter. I shook my head, both to clear it and to answer his question. Movement at the bars, as Tucker sank down on his knees and pushed his hands through the bars as if trying to reach me.

"Come on," he said, "Lemme see."

Tentatively, I moved my hands and my legs and crawled towards him. Just before I reached him, however, my arms gave way and I collapsed on the floor again. I laid there for a moment and then tried to get up. A hand touched my left arm, grabbed it.

"Stay still," he said, "I can see you now... they beat you up again. I'm sorry, Danny, I didn't know..."

"S'alright," I murmured.

I closed my eyes. There was something I had to ask, something of importance, but I couldn't remember. Tucker shifted, but left his hand on my arm. I was grateful for that, it felt comforting. He stayed silent for a while, seemingly sensing that I needed to rest, but when I kept moving and twitching, he spoke again.

"Where have you been?"

Ah. The Question. What was I going to tell him? Comfortably at home, and sorry, forgot all about you? Left you here to rot in Walker's prison? Where was Sam?

"Where's Sam?"

Tucker sighed. "I'm sorry, Danny. When you were gone, they came for her."

I opened my eyes in alarm and stared at him. "Who?"

His voice sounded grim. "Aragon. Remember how he wanted to have her before? He bought her. Walker sold Sam. That's when we thought..." He swallowed. "That's when we thought you were dead. Because he didn't need Sam anymore. And you didn't come back."

The happiness I had felt faded away. To come all this way, to find her still missing. Then I felt bad about that thought, because I had at least found Tucker.

"Where have you been, Danny?"

There was no suspicion in his voice, no doubt. If I had left them a month ago, I must have had a good reason. It was my turn to swallow.

"I'm sorry, Tucker," I whispered, "I abandoned you."

"I don't believe that."

I turned away from him and closed my eyes again.

"Danny." His grip tightened around my arm. "What happened?"

I lost it all. My friends, my family, my past, my future. They were all just a dark hole in my head. I could almost physically feel it. I was a stranger to myself.

"I forgot," I said hoarsely.

"What?" He let go of my arm. "What do you mean you forgot?"

"I mean I forgot. I don't know what happened. I forgot... everything."

"You mean you forgot what happened while we were here, or where you've been the past month, or what happened just now?"

"I know where I was during the past month. I just don't know anything from before that."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing. Not even my name."

"You lost your memory?"

I turned my head to him again and tried to make out the expression on his face. It was very hard talking to somebody who is essentially only a voice in the dark. I wanted to know how he took it, if he believed me, what he thought of me. He had been my best friend, but I couldn't imagine being anybody's friend at the moment, with my current behavior of pushing everybody away. I suspected I hadn't always been like that, but I had a hard time imagining myself being any different than I was now.

"Yeah," I said, "Everything."

Tucker leaned against the bars. "But you know who you are now."

I nodded.

"So, where have you been?"

He wasn't going to like the answer. "Amity Park."

"What? You mean you forgot who you were, went home and just went on with your life?"

He sounded incredulous. It was incredulous.

"I... no. I didn't know anything. They had to tell me who I was. They..." I stopped. I didn't know where to begin, the story was too complicated. "They had to tell me who you were. Who Sam was. I didn't know where you were and they..."

They thought I had something to do with their disappearance. I couldn't get that out of my mouth.

"Are they even looking for us?"

"They've been looking for us for four months. They didn't have a clue. They couldn't find our campsite at the lake. Tucker..." I remembered the memorial service. I swallowed again. "They think you're dead."

Tucker sat back and seemed to stare morosely at the floor. "Yeah," he said, "I figured as much. It's been too long, huh. How..." He stopped for a moment. "How are my parents holding up?"

I thought about the quiet desperation of Mr and Mrs Foley, and then about Mrs Manson's anger and Mr Manson's tired determination. I shook my head.

"Not good."

I could see Tucker wanted to ask more, but he just looked at me and shut up. I started wiggling and pushing until I got myself into a semi-sitting position, leaning against the bars. Something trickled down my neck, leaving a cold trail. I felt the back of my head and almost immediately felt the painful lump there, and the cold sticky stuff that was in my hair. When I looked at my hand again, it was stained with green, slightly glowing ectoplasm. Tucker was watching me.

"You'll heal," he said. It sounded heartless, but I knew he didn't mean for it to sound that way. He was just stating a fact.

"I know."

Quietly, I began inspecting my body, taking in the torn hazmat suit, the tender spots on my legs and my arms where I had tried to ward off the blows, the painful feeling in my abdomen whenever I moved. Still, nothing seemed to be broken.

"What happened?" I asked him.

"You mean, when we went camping?" Tucker asked.

I nodded. "I know we went to that spot in the woods by the waterfall," I said, "I found it."

"Yeah. We did. You were going to try and create a portal there."

I blinked in surprise. "I was what?"

"You don't know?"

"Tucker. Amnesia. I don't know anything."

"Oh. I thought... never mind."

"What?"

"As a ghost, I thought you'd know what you were capable off, that's all."

I shook my head. "Long story, Tucker. Let's just say I needed to learn everything again. I can create a portal?"

"Sort of. No. You have no control. But that's why Walker wants you. Wait."

He got up, hurried to the other side of his cell and started rummaging through what seemed to be a pile of blankets and two backpacks, one of which in the form of a spider. Sam's, I realized, only Sam could have a backpack like that.

"Sam kept a journal," Tucker said, "It's in here somewhere, if only..."

He never got to finish his sentence. Out of nowhere, the door on the other end of the corridor between the cages flung open and Walker entered, followed by a contingent of similar clad goons. If I had been human, my heart would have stopped. Before I knew it, I was on my feet, swaying. Walker saw me and grinned evilly.

"Good to see you've still got your manners, punk," he said.

I managed to stay silent, suppressing the whimper that threatened to leave my mouth. Walker slowly walked towards me, his footsteps echoing ominously through the rather large space. His goons stayed by the door, as if he didn't really need them, they were just there for the show. And they were, I realized. I would do anything he said, without question, without resisting. He pulled out a key and opened the door to my cell. I remained perfectly still.

"Rule twelve," he hissed at me.

Still no sound managed to leave my mouth. I opened it a few times, trying to form words, but nothing came. In an instant, Walker was in front of me and backhanded me. I flung back against the far wall and slid to the floor. I didn't try to bring my hand to my face. I just sat there, staring. His eyes started to glow menacingly.

"A-a-always st-t-tand up when the w-w-warden c-c-comes in the room," I stuttered.

I had to get up. Walker stepped closer. I had to get up, had to, or he would kick me and I'd deserve it but I still didn't want it. I pushed my hands against the wall, pulled my feet up and managed to semi-stand again, leaning against the wall. I had a vague idea that that was against the rules as well, but it was the best I could do. Walker frowned, but let it go. A wave of relief and gratitude washed over me.

"I-I'm sorry," I whispered.

I didn't see it coming. I was on the floor before I knew it, and only then felt the pain spread from my chest all over my body. I clenched my jaw and tried to control the painful whimpers.

Walker bend over and brought his face frighteningly close to mine. "Rule eleven," he whispered.

I tried to speak through he whimpering. "Don't... speak... unless spoken to."

He straightened. "Good," he said, "Very good. I don't know why Plasmius has such trouble with you. It's all about proper training." He stepped back to allow me to get up on my feet again and I started scrambling. "Now, "he said, "Back to where we left off the last time you were here. Only this time, when you open a portal, you are not to go through it."

From cell next to mine, I could hear somebody draw in his breath. My mind was fuzzy. I couldn't remember who was there. My only purpose was to get upright again, to stand on my two feet, unaided. I managed. Barely. Walker crossed his arms.

"Well?" he said.

I stared at him. I had to obey him, had to please him, I knew that and I wanted to, I really did, but I just didn't have a clue as to what he wanted me to do.

"S-sir?" I said.

"Do I need to remind you what you are?" The menace was dripping from his voice.

"I..." I said. Something came to me from the darkness of my mind. "I am a tool."

Walker smiled. I felt a twinge of pride. I had done good, he approved. But now... I looked at the floor and tried to decide if I could ask him what it was that I was supposed to do. My eyes wandered over the dents and cracks in the floor, then slid sideways to the bars of the cell next to mine. A dark figure sat in the corner, his back against the wall, left fist curled around a bar as if he was trying to crush it.

What was it he had said?

A portal. Walker wanted a portal. A pit opened up in my stomach. I couldn't make a portal, I didn't know how. A cold hand gripped my throat and lifted me into the air, making me look up into his eyes.

"Your very existence is against the rules," he said, "Be grateful I am letting you be as you are."

I was grateful. Very grateful. I tried to tell him that but he squeezed.

"Give. Me. A. Portal," he said.

He let go and I stumbled to the floor, but managed to stay upright this time. Walker wanted a portal, wanted me to make him one, so obviously I had to try. I extended my hands and reached, tried to visualize what I felt when touching the edges of the remains of a portal, tried to remember the pain I felt when cutting myself at the edge of an open portal. Energy shifted inside of me, I could feel its raw power. Enough power to do anything. Shoot ecto beams. Create a portal. Destroy Walker.

My mind reeled at that thought, and I stumbled backwards, accidentally letting out a massive ectoblast that thankfully missed Walker by several feet and instead slammed into the wall on the other side of the room. My back hit the wall and I stared at Walker in terror.

"I'm sorry, I can't, I'm sorry, I can't, I'm..."

"Quiet."

I shut my mouth with a click. Walker's eyes burned into me and I squirmed. He was going to beat me again, and I hadn't even recovered from the last one yet. This was going to hurt. I squeezed my eyes shut.

Nothing happened.

Silence fell over the room as I waited, feeling Walker's anger at me pour out of him. Then, suddenly, his footsteps moved away from me and the door to my cell shut with a clang. I stayed where I was, waiting, unable to believe he just left. Footsteps trailing away, another door closing, silence again.

"Danny." A whispered voice. "He's gone."

It didn't register. I remained where I was, expecting the blow that never came. Finally, I let myself sink to the floor and curled into a ball, drawing my knees up and hugging them fiercely.

"Danny, come on man, he's gone, come sit over here, it's alright, he's gone, he won't come back... for a while, you can rest now, it's alright, Danny..."

I listened to Tucker's voice as he ranted, forming a stream of words that were meant to comfort me. The ease of his talking struck me, as if he had done it before, as if he had had to use it before. I clenched my fists and buried my head between my knees.

"Danny?" Tucker said. He sighed. "Look... I'm not good at this. Sam was. She always managed to get you back to reality... in the beginning anyway, in the end you just... Danny can you hear me? You have to hold on. You'll succeed, you'll see, and then you can escape again..."

I would never succeed. I would forever be here, in this prison, being Walker's pet, Walker's tool. There was nothing I could do about it. I closed my eyes and tried to block out Tucker's words, but I didn't succeed in doing that.

"Danny, come on, look what I've got," Tucker said, "Sam's journal. I know we're not supposed to look at it but I don't think she'll mind to much now... And if she does she'll kill us when we get out of this, but I'll take my chances. Come on, Danny, look."

I looked up and peered at what Tucker was holding in his hands. A notebook of sorts, I couldn't really see it in the darkness.

"It's too dark," I croaked.

"Don't give me that, you've got your own private light bulb right at your fingertips."

True enough. Slowly, some of the tension left my body. I moved tentatively, scooting over to where Tucker was sitting. Then, I held out my hand and lit up a small glowing green ecto ball. It lit up my cell and part of the room, and now that I got a good look at it, I liked it better when it was dark. The walls were dark and slimy, water dripping from them and forming small puddles on the floor. Something moved at the other end of the cell, and I thought it might be ghost cockroaches. I shuddered. Then I looked at Tucker's face for the first time.

He looked gaunt, his eyes too bright in his face. But he was grinning in triumph, and I realized that that was because he had managed to get through to me. I tried to smile back at him, but I knew the smile didn't reach my eyes. Then I looked down at the slightly worn notebook in his hands.

"Come on," he said, "Might as well read it together. That way we can both be executed at the same time."

"Yeah, Tucker, very comforting," I said.

He opened it and I leaned against the bars to be able to read with him.

_

* * *

_

Day 3, I think.

_This is stupid. I'm sitting here in this stupid cell at the stupid ghost's prison wearing the stupid collar and it's been three days already. I can't be writing a journal. Stuff it._

_Day 3, again, 'cuz Tucker's bugging me about it._

_There are no days here. There's no difference between day and night, we're just guessing. We're awake, we sleep, then we're awake again, presto, next day. I've read somewhere that when you're cut off from the outside world, your days are longer because your internal clock is longer than twenty four hours. Mine definitely is. So maybe this is only day two. Time flies only when you're having fun._

* * *

"What did she mean by 'wearing the stupid collar?" I asked.

Tucker glanced at me. "Remember Wulf... no, of course not. God, this sucks. Walker has this collar, he used it on a friend of ours called Wulf to control him. It sort of electrocuted him whenever Walker pressed a button..."

I felt myself go cold. "You mean Sam..."

Tucker looked away, a pained expression on his face. "Yeah."

"Did he..."

"Yeah."

I stared at the notebook with unseeing eyes. Walker had not only tortured me, but also Sam. How could I have let that happen?

"Danny, it was only once. Very briefly. She wasn't injured, just very shaken up. You... you saved her by submitting to Walker."

So I did all of this to myself. So Walker wouldn't hurt Sam. In a strange way, everything started to make sense. It didn't make me feel any better though. I had a feeling it was my fault we were in here in the first place.

"She'll be alright, you know," Tucker interrupted my thoughts.

I looked up at him and realized I had been staring at my hands.

"How so?" I asked. How could she possibly be alfight, being bought like some sort of slave by a ghost who did who knows what to her.

"She beat Aragon before. Annoyed the hell out of him until he just wanted to get rid of her and let her go."

"He hasn't let her go yet, has he. How long has it been?"

Tucker stared at the wall behind him, squinting through his cracked glasses. There seemed to be markings there, thin lines, scratched in the dirty wall.

"I'd say about four weeks ago."

"Then how can she be alright? She's still missing, Tucker, she's gone. And I... I just... I can't believe I just forgot about her."

Tucker shook his head. "Me neither," he muttered. Then he looked up, alarmed, "I mean, that's not what I mean, Danny, it's just that she always seemed to be on your mind, and it's really strange that everything can get wiped away like that."

"I should have saved her," I said.

Tucker grabbed my arm, almost dropping the notebook. "You did, Danny. You gave yourself up for her. You saved her."

"And a lot of good that did her," I said bitterly.

I jerked my arm away from him and hugged my knees. Slowly, I started rocking back and forth, trying to get a grip on the sudden pain I felt, the tightness in my chest, the need for some sort of sedative do numb my feelings of loss...

"Danny, stop doing this to yourself!"

"Shut up, Tucker."

"No way. Come on, dude. Remember the games we used to play? You always wanted to be Superman, or Batman, or Spiderman. That was always you. And I got to be Luthor, or the Joker, or what's his face. It's not fair, Danny. Because you're not. You can't save the world all by yourself."

"What?" I said, "You're dragging some childhood grudge against me to cheer me up? How is this supposed to make me feel better?"

"I'm not trying to make you feel better! I'm just saying the world doesn't revolve around you!"

"It doesn't?"

My lame attempt at humor had Tucker stumped for a moment. Then he laughed.

"You're an idiot," he said.

__

Day 4

_Danny is in a bad way. Can't talk now. _

_Day 5_

_Day 5. We're not doing so great. Danny is losing it. He's sleeping now, but he's mumbling and twitching and it's breaking my heart. They want him to create a portal, but it's killing him. Tucker is trying to wake him up, but he just won't. It's like he's not there all the time, we have to talk to him and scream at him to get him back. _

_Day 5, continued._

_They just took him away. I don't know were. Before, they had him create his portals right here. At first, he refused, but Walker really only had to push the button for the stupid collar around my neck once. After that, he was on his knees, begging. I never thought I'd ever see Danny begging. Well, other than us for forgiving him one of his stupid actions. Or Paulina, for a date. Or his parents, for getting out of his grounding. But this was different. And now he's gone._

_Day 6_

_I fell asleep. I can't believe I fell asleep. Danny is gone somewhere and they're doing terrible things to him and I sleep. Tucker says we can't help him by staying awake but I CAN'T JUST SLEEP when they're torturing him!!_

_I wonder if there is meat in the food they bring us. It tastes horrible. I have to eat. It makes me sick._

_Day 6, continued._

_They brought him back and he was unconscious. He's bleeding somewhere, I can't really see. He's still in ghost form, so he should be alright but I can't see._

_Day 8_

_Tucker is complaining about the food. Says there's no meat in it. Hah._

_Day 11_

_I don't feel like writing. Shut up, Tucker._

_Day 15_

_Danny is definitely getting worse. This morning, he just sat there, staring. Took us an hour to get him back. And then he was crying. But at least he's back._

_Day 15, continued._

_He's admitted that the headaches are back. _

_Day 16_

_Danny created an actual, stable portal today, in his cell. It lasted only about ten seconds or so, but you could clearly see trees. And then he looked at Walker and he was proud, like a puppy bringing a stick to his master. It makes me sick. He's losing himself._

* * *

"Enough," I said.

I let myself slide to the floor and curled up in the corner, close to Tucker who was still sitting there, holding the notebook, staring idly in the distance. The ecto ball dissipated, and we were in darkness again.

Sam was right. I had lost myself back then, and I was losing myself again now. Walker's hold on me was total. When he was near, the only thing I wanted to do was please him. Laying here in my cell, so close to my best friend, I never felt more alone.

_

* * *

_

Day 17

_Tucker says I should write down what happened to us. In case we're never found. It doesn't seem to have entered his thick mind that if we're never found, the journal will also never be found. But hey. It's something to do. Danny's sleeping._


	28. Sam's tale, part 1

A/N: OK, for this chapter, I owe an apology of sorts to anybody I've ever told, in a review, not to switch point of view when writing first person POV. And I still think it shouldn't be done, ever. But I'm doing it here. In my defence, I've been leading up to this in the previous chapter, and it's a journal entry. Still, excuses. I wrote this a while ago, and I liked it too much to leave it out. I considered doing a seperate story, called 'Lost, Sam's tale', but to be honest, I just don't have the energy for that.

* * *

**LOST**

**Chapter 28: Sam's Tale, Part 1**

* * *

It was supposed to be a fun trip. It was me who thought it up, and Danny went along easily. Together, we convinced Tucker, and after only a day of preparation, we took off. We had a three day weekend, three whole days to get Danny's new power under control. He was sure it was going to work this time, and at the time I thought so too. He was confident. He was also pale, with dark circles under his eyes. I had tried asking if he was alright the whole week, but he brushed it off, just like he brushed his parents off when they conveyed their concern. It's nothing, he'd said, just a headache. Some fresh air will do me good.

I knew what caused the headaches. Two weeks before, he had discovered, totally by accident, that he could tear a hole in reality, a breach to the ghost zone. He knew it instantly when he saw it, the green, thin line in the air that he had drawn, trying to focus his powers while being attacked in the back. He had stared at it in awe, and that nearly cost him his life when the green monster he had been battling set his claws into him. Only his ice powers saved him, and Tucker sucked in the broken pieces of the huge green monster popsicle while I wrapped bandages around his abdomen, his right leg and both his arms. He didn't even notice, he was so excited.

In the following week, he tried doing it again, without much success. Sometimes, he managed to recreate the thin line, sometimes he managed to create an even wider hole and we actually could look in for a few moments before it collapsed. And sometimes it didn't work at all, and he ended up destroying some trash cans, or trees, or, one time, a swing in the playground. He was obsessed though. He knew he'd have the ability when he was older, and he wanted it now. I'll admit that it would make our lives a whole lot easier if we didn't have to use the Fenton portal to get into the ghost zone.

What he didn't tell us at the time, although I found out later on after we'd been doing it or a week, was that the attempts gave him fierce headaches. I found him one day, laying in the park, his eyes shut tightly, whimpering in pain. By that time, he already had the bags under his eyes, and although he denied it, I knew that he hadn't been able to sleep the whole week. School was agony for him, forced as he was to sit through the lectures with a throbbing head. By that time, I got very worried, and I managed to convince him to lay off for a while, take a break, get some sleep. He did, and two days later his eyes were sparkling again, his headaches gone. Which of course gave him the confidence that he should try again.

The whole week, whenever he had the chance, he was playing around, pointing his index finger and focusing his power. And the headaches started again. Within two days he looked like the living dead once more, and it was then that I made my proposal.

Why, did I say to him, don't we go to lake Eerie. Wulf made a hole there once, remember, behind the waterfall? Maybe, if we go to that place and you try it there on that exact same spot, it'll be easier. His jaw dropped and he stared at me in amazement. Sam, you're a genius, he had said, hugging me, of course that'll work. I can use the weakness in the barrier there to create a hole, maybe even a large hole!

So we prepared. Talking Tucker into it was our first problem, and only after we agreed that he could bring his laptop and a variety of monster movies did he agree to come along. We threw all our stuff, tents, backpacks, cooking equipment, in the trunk of my car, said goodbye to our worried parents and took off. On the way, we stopped at a grocery store and bought food for at least a week, although I wasn't sure how we were supposed to get everything to the camp site we had in mind.

It wasn't the camp site I had pointed out to my parents. The place we were going was pretty much an inaccessible wilderness, and in fact we'd probably need Danny's powers to get there. That part of the woods was said to be haunted too, so no way our parents would have let us go there. Instead, we pointed out a nice, picnicky area near the lake, on the other side of it of where we would actually be.

We left the road and followed some bumpy trail for a few miles, until my car got stuck and we could go no further. From that point on, we walked, taking most of our stuff with us. We had to leave half the food behind, but we promised Tucker we'd go back for it later. After two hours of climbing, stumbling, falling and getting saved by a conveniently available half ghost who could fly, we arrived at the waterfall. By that time, it was dusk, so we wasted no time, but put up our tents and ate a quick, cold dinner, consisting mostly of potato chips and sodas.

Danny didn't want to wait. He was exhausted from his lack of sleep, the headaches that came with the attempts to create a portal and the two hour hike to get there. He was also completely wired, practically bouncing up and down, and we gave in. We went through the waterfall into the cave that was behind it. He closed his eyes and moved around, while Tucker and I each held a flashlight. I remember the smile on his face when he discovered the closed edges of the tear, moving his hands up and down, following lines only he could feel.

"I feel it here," he whispered, "This is it. The opening is right here. It's really strong."

He opened his eyes and turned back to us. His eyes glittered in the beams of our flashlights. He looked ghostly.

"Let's go back, get some sleep," I said, moving the beam of my flashlight around the cave, "We'll come back in the morning, when you're rested."

He hesitated, obviously wanting to proceed, but then common sense took over and he nodded. His eyes darkened a bit, but that could be a trick of the light. We stepped through the waterfall again, changed clothes and crawled into our sleeping bags. Tucker insisted on watching 'The evil in the woods', and we did. Somehow, I ended up laying next to a snoring Danny, his arm wrapped firmly around my midsection and not minding a bit. Tucker probably got a truckload of really good blackmail pictures of us, but at that point, I didn't care.


	29. Time

A/N: Two chapters today. If you clicked the little arrow button, you've missed one.

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**LOST**

**Chapter 29: Time**

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I lost track of time pretty quickly. I slept, was rudely awakened by Walker's goons, dragged out of the cell to another room, larger, high ceiling, dirty gray walls, completely empty. The walls were wet, water was dripping on the floor, forming little pools. There was a stale smell to the room, as if the air in it had been in there for hundreds of years. Which, come to think of it, was probably true, since ghosts don't need to breathe. In the ghost zone, air stays where it is.

I tried to create a portal, again and again, but I never even came close. I had read Sam's description on what I had done to achieve it, but it didn't make much sense to me. Focus power on a single spot, like letting go of an ecto blast without it going any further than an inch or so from my index finger. The only thing I managed was creating scorch marks on the walls. There was no way for me to control that kind of power.

Walker didn't like it. At first, he seemed patient, as if he wanted to give me the chance to get into it again. But when I repeatedly failed miserably, he started screaming at me, advancing on me and growing bigger and bigger as he got closer. This, I realized as I was backing away from him, was probably the very reason we came here instead of trying to create a portal in my cell. Walker grew bigger when he was angry, and the high ceiling here allowed him to get really intimidating.

Of course it ended with me being knocked senseless again. I woke up in my cell, disoriented and aching all over, and it took me a while to realize that Tucker was talking to me, calling my name more and more frantically.

"Shut up Tucker," I muttered as I crawled into a corner and curled into a ball again. He wouldn't leave me alone, however, and I ended up talking to him for a bit before falling into a restless sleep, only to be woken again and the whole thing started all over again.

"Why, Tucker?" I asked later, much later, leaning against the bars that separated our cells, my back touching his as he was also leaning.

We weren't reading at that moment. I had refused to light an ecto ball because I felt totally and utterly spent, and the beginning of a fierce headache starting at the base of my skull. I still hadn't managed to create something that even closely resembled a portal.

"Why what?"

He sounded distracted. I could hear him eat some of the dry toast they had brought him while I was 'sleeping'. He had offered it to me too, but I had refused. I wasn't hungry. Thinking about food alone made me slightly nauseous. At some point I'd have to eat though.

"Why did Aragon take Sam?"

He stopped eating, and the silence that followed only emphasized the noise he had been making chewing his toast.

"Because he could, maybe. He's weird. He wanted to have her before, organized a beauty contest to find him a human bride, and she won."

"Sam? Winning a beauty contest?"

"What, you don't think she's pretty?"

"Well, yeah, but..."

Tucker started laughing. He was shaking against my back, laughing so hard he almost choked on the breadcrumbs still in his mouth.

"Finally!" he gasped, coughing, "It only takes being knocked around for a few months until you lose your memory to get you to admit it. You _like_ her!"

I listened to his laughter, slowly dying down. He turned around and poked my back. I refused to look around, instead staring at the wall opposite of me.

"What do you mean by that?" I finally asked him.

"You're still clueless," he said, "You two have liked each other since forever, but you were both denying it. You were always yelling at everybody that you two weren't love birds that it got a bit old in the end."

"I only said I thought she was pretty."

"Dude, believe me, coming from you, that's practically a marriage vow."

I suppressed my annoyance at Tucker's amusement. "Beauty contest," I reminded him through gritted teeth.

Tucker hiccuped. "Right," he said, "Beauty contest. And she won, actually you let her win because you were the jury, but that's beside the point. Aragon kidnapped her, and we had to rescue her in the ghost zone. Only we didn't have to rescue her at all, of course, Sam can take care of herself. Guess Aragon wanted her back after all."

A thought hit me. "Does she still have the collar on?"

Tucker was silent. I could feel the laughter leave him.

"Yeah," he said.

"So now he can control her."

My voice was impassive. I didn't want to think about the implications. Sam was strong. She'd survive. I'd rescue her. Aragon was so dead. I started thinking about what I'd do to Aragon, and actually managed to spend a fairly enjoyable hour or so, until I lost track of my thoughts and just sat there. Tucker was talking again, a story about Paulina and my pants falling down, obviously designed to cheer me up. I just listened to his voice.

Time moved. Every now and then I had the crazy feeling I could feel it move, shift, flow. My eyes glazed over as I tried to follow it, to no avail. It wasn't something I could grasp. I had to ride the tide. Walker came for me again, I couldn't create a portal again, got punished for it again and finally got to be unconscious for a while again. Just a day in the life. I no longer cared.

My mind drifted. I was there, yet I wasn't there at all. I moved, talked when spoken to, answered questions, tried to follow Walker's orders to the best of my abilities, but that was only part of me. The rest of me retreated into the black abyss of my mind, the gap between me and my past, the memories that were lost forever. I was nothing. I didn't exist. It was all just pretend. Day became night became day again, but I didn't know. Time was only a vague concept. I honestly couldn't say how much time had passed, hours, days, a week.

It turned out to be two days.

_Day I don't know anymore._

_Nothing makes sense anymore. I don't know why I'm still trying to write something down. Tucker is sick. Danny is sleeping. Or dead. Can't really tell. I'm bored. There are fifty three cracks in the back wall. Forty bars separating our cell from Danny's. Eight in the door. Three cells on this side of the room, three on the other. We're the only ones here. I don't know where here is. Walker's prison, obviously, because we haven't left the place, but Danny says it's no part he's ever been to._

_Day 20?_

_Tucker is feeling better, but now I'm sick. Sick. I hate being sick. Sick sick sick._

_Day 25_

_They couldn't wake Danny today. They left. He's just laying there. We can't wake him either._

_Day 26_

_No change._

_Day 27_

_He woke up! Just now, about an hour ago! Walker hasn't found out yet, we're hoping he'll leave Danny alone for a bit. The portal thing is killing him._

_He's not talking._

_Day 28_

_They took him away again last night. He hasn't been back. It occurred to me that I'm not as worried as I was before, and that worries me. Tucker says he's worried about me worrying about not worrying enough. Weird huh._

_Day 28, continued._

_Danny just walked in. Walked. He looked like death warmed over, and that is being in ghost form. There is something wrong with him, really wrong. I tried talking to him to snap him out of it, but he just stared right through me with those eerie green eyes. I never thought of his eyes as eerie before. He's still staring at me. It gives me the creeps. _

_At least they didn't beat him up this time._

_Maybe I should continue my story. I don't feel like it. I don't want to think about it anymore. Tucker keeps nagging me though. _

_Day 31_

_We play mind games all the time. Question. There's four people for crossing an unstable, dark bridge. It's so dark you need a flashlight. Only two people can cross at the same time. One person takes one minute, the second two minutes, the third five minutes and the fourth ten minutes. They've got seventeen minutes until the bridge collapses. How do they do it? Remember, they need the flashlight to cross the bridge. _

_Figure it out. Took me the better part of the day._

_Day 32_

_Danny actually participated in a game of checkers. We drew a crude board on the floor and tore up a page of my notebook to make the stones. He lost. Badly._

_Day 32, continued_

_OK, alright, shut up Tucker, I'll do it. Tomorrow._


	30. Sam's tale, part 2

A/N: Hi... I'm back. What's my excuse? Oh, just writing 50,000 words in one month for the NaNoWriMo... :)

I debated myself if this part wasn't going into too much detail, thereby loosing the 'journal' kind of thing, but as always this chapter wrote itself and refused to be put down in any other way (I tried). I'll stop harassing people about changing first person POV, OK?

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**LOST**

**Chapter 30: Sam's Tale, part 2**

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In the morning, we all woke up stiff and sore, Tucker because he had been sleeping with his head on his laptop, Danny because I had been laying with my head on his shoulder and me because some tree roots had been poking me in the back half the night. In retrospect, we should have taken the trouble to actually inflate our mattresses, instead of laying the damp forest ground. Fortunately, I woke up before Tucker did, so I could remove whatever incriminating pictures he had on his phone and at the same time take some new ones of him drooling all over his laptop.

We had breakfast, some chocolate chip cookies Tucker's mom made and some sodas, and then Danny's impatience got the better of him. He jumped up and practically dragged us through the waterfall again, neglecting to turn us completely intangible so we got fairly wet. Danny muttered a half hearted apology, which I didn't acknowledge. We followed Danny into the cave, Tucker wringing his cap and me squelching in my boots, watching my best friend lead the way to the back of the cave.

"Come on, Danny," I said, watching him move his fingers through the air again like he had the night before, feeling something only he could feel, "Get a grip. This thing had been here all these months, it's not gonna go away in the next few minutes."

He turned around, letting his hands drop beside his body. "I thought you wanted this too," he said accusingly.

He looked a little better now that he had actually slept. His hair was messy, his wet t-shirt crumpled and his jeans had dark stains on them from the dirt on the ground. None of us had taken the time to clean ourselves up properly. I figured I must look like something that crawled out of the woods too, and started raking my fingers through my tangled hair, trying to straighten it. Danny grinned.

"You look fine to me," he said lightly, and then, more seriously, "I'm sorry. It's just that I want to try this. This is the best idea you've had in years, Sam."

Oh how those words would come back to haunt me. At the time, however, I wholly agreed. "Yeah, well," I said, "It would be neat. But what's the rush?"

He was silent at that for a moment. Tucker had stopped wringing his cap and held it out in front of him, eying it critically.

"Yeah, man, why the hurry? We're on vacation. Sort of. Not really. Vacation is at the beach, with pretty girls who need mouth to mouth..."

"Tucker!" I said, trying to plaster my usual scowl on my face. Tucker's running after girls was somehow both annoying and funny, and trying to keep a straight face at his ridiculous remarks had become somewhat of a challenge lately. Surely he knew he was never going to get a girl this way?

"You mean those girls who ran away from you screaming at the water park?" Danny smirked.

Tucker shrugged, then grinned. "Well," he said, "It's not like they're throwing themselves at your feet either mister secret super hero."

Danny laughed. "Yeah," he said, "Sometimes I wonder what exactly the perks are of being Danny Phantom. I get either beat up or chased away when I'm a ghost, and when I'm human, nobody notices me or thinks I'm just another geek. Either way, getting a date with a pretty girl is impossible. Present company excluded of course."

His gazed drifted to me and for a moment, our eyes locked. Then he blinked and looked away. I thought I saw him blush, and felt my own face heat up too. I was glad it was kind of dark in the cave, the only light coming from the green ecto ball Danny had lit up when we entered. We had foolishly let our flashlights burn the night before, and the batteries had been dead in the morning.

Danny cleared his throat. "Anyway," he said, "I want this. It's a power Vlad doesn't have. It gives me an edge, don't you see? I've had my powers for only two and a half years, he has had them for over twenty, and I'm already close to surpassing him. It's going to be a matter of time before I can beat him."

He looked down and took a deep breath.

"I'm tired of all of this, Sam. Tucker. Whatever I do, however much effort I put into fighting ghosts, capturing them, trying to thwart their crazy take-over-the-world plans, it'll never be enough if I can't stop Vlad. I need to stop him." He looked up, and suddenly his eyes were glowing green. "I _will _stop him."

Tucker and I stared at his suddenly intense presence, and I realized he was showing us a side of him we rarely saw. Danny had proven himself over the past two years time and time again, showing his bravery and single minded determination and vastly improved fighting skills, but now he let us look into the core of his obsession. He would protect. At any cost.

Suddenly I wondered if the price was going to be too high.

Danny closed his eyes, and when he reopened them, they were blue again. He blinked, then laughed awkwardly, returning to the clumsy goof ball we all knew and loved. He raked his fingers through his slightly too long hair, pushing it out of his face.

"Let's just do this," he said.

The two rings appeared around his waist, lighting up the cave in a brilliant white light. I put my hands in front of my eyes and saw Tucker do the same. Only a moment later it was gone and Danny was floating in front of us, hair now white, eyes glowing green. He held up his hands, studied them for a moment and then furrowed his brow in concentration, like I had seen him do a lot during the past few weeks. He was going to try again, to create a portal.

His hands started to glow green, brighter and brighter, until I again had to shield my eyes. I still managed to look at him though, just not directly at his hands. He clasped them together, pointed both his index fingers and brought it up to where Wulf's portal had been.

A glowing point appeared, about an inch from his fingers, like the tip of a blowtorch. He held it still for a moment, and then slowly moved downwards, drawing a bright green line into thin air. As I watched, the line became wider at the top, opening itself. When Danny had reached what seemed to be the bottom of the original tear, the top of the line had become almost two feet wide.

"Wow, would you look at that!" Danny said excitedly, "It's working." He turned, eyes glowing so bright I couldn't see his irises, "It's actually working, Sam! You were right... ah!"

Alarmed, I stepped forward, ready to catch him should he drop from the air. A useless gesture, I knew, because he wouldn't actually fall, he was floating. He had brought his hands to his temples and was rubbing them. I knew what that meant. A killer headache had just suddenly come out of nowhere.

"Danny, are you alright?" I asked.

Next to me, I felt more than that I saw Tucker move closer as well. Danny didn't answer for a moment, but then looked up. He looked more ghostly than ever, dark circles under his eyes more prominent than before.

"Yeah, in a moment," he said. "Don't worry about it, it's just... it's nothing."

He turned around and looked at the portal. It widened even further, and we caught a glimpse of a part of the ghost zone, and it took me a moment to realize what it was I was looking at. Walls. A desk. Somebody sitting behind that desk, looking up in surprise.

I can't believe we were that stupid, that I was that stupid, and that Danny, who should have instinctively known what was wrong with the plan, was that stupid. Wulf had created the previous portal, trying to escape from Walker's prison. It stood to reason that when we would try to create a portal at the exact same spot, it would open up right where it had been. In Walker's office.

What happened next, I blame on Danny's disorientation, caused by the headache, my own clumsiness and just sheer bad luck. We should have closed the portal immediately, using the same technique as before, inverting the beam of the Fenton Thermos. I went for my backpack, on the move just as Walker started shouting orders and shooting ecto blasts through the portal. One of them hit Danny square in the chest, flinging him backwards. Another grazed Tucker's head, singing his cap, and with an indignant 'hey', he dove behind some rocks.

The zipper of my backpack stuck. Cursing and groaning, I yanked it repeatedly until it tore right open. I grabbed the thermos, fumbled with it for a moment to try and find the correct setting for it... and was knocked to the ground by Danny, pushing me out of the way of a huge ecto blast. I dropped the thermos, and it rolled. Right under the portal.

"Get out of here," Danny shouted as I watched the thermos, slightly dazed.

He jumped up again, produced a shield to protect us from more ecto blasts of Walker's goons, spilling out of the portal into the cave. I grabbed a hinge of my backpack and started scrambling backwards. Tucker was following, holding his PDA against his chest. His glasses were askew on his face, and I could see one of them was cracked.

Danny had to drop the shield only moments later, and immediately we were under fire. One ectoblast grazed my leg, leaving a painful burn mark that would be hard to explain to my parents when we got home, another hit the ceiling just above my head and caused a small rockfall. Tucker bumped into me when I stopped abruptly to avoid being hit by the falling rocks.

I rummaged through my backpack again, and somehow my brain started functioning again. Danny needed help. We had ecto guns. There was absolutely no way I was going to leave him. My hands felt the familiar feel of the gun almost immediately. I took it out, turned and started firing randomly over Tucker's shoulder, taking care not to hit Danny, who was easily blasting away the goons.

It would have been no problem, if there hadn't been so many of them.

They just kept coming. For every goon Danny blasted, two new ones appeared, still directed by a screaming Walker in his office in the Ghost Zone. And Danny was tired. I caught a glimpse of his glazed eyes as I watched his movements slow down. And that was when I realized we were losing, that we had made a huge mistake and that we could very well lose our lives because of it. That realization hit at the same moment one of the goons hit Danny with his nightstick and pressed a button.

Danny screamed.

I screamed too. I trained my gun on the goon electrocuting Danny, an evil smirk plastered on his face as he pressed the nightstick against Danny's shoulder and giving no sign of letting him go any time soon, and squeezed the trigger. Or at least, that had been my intention. Instead, another goon that I had somehow overlooked, had pointed his own nightstick at me and had fired some sticky ectoplasmic rope that wrapped itself around my body. My shot went wide. I dropped the gun. The goon fired again, and behind me I heard Tucker's surprised shout as he was effectively dealt with. Danny continued screaming.

All went quiet in the cave then. The goon eased up on Danny, but only a little. The nightstick was still pressed against Danny's shoulder, and I could see him twitch, but he had stopped screaming. The noise of ectoblasts being fired was also gone. Then Walker entered the cave through the portal.

"Well, well, well," he said. His voice boomed through the cave, ghostly echo making the cave seem bigger than it actually was. "Look who we have here."

He bend forward, grabbed Danny's hair and lifted his head. Danny groaned.

"I think you just violated rule two hundred and fifty nine," Walker said.

"Oh yeah?" Danny rasped, "Gee, I'm sorry to hear that. I was aiming for rule two hundred and fifty eight. Just missed it... Ack!"

Walker crashed his head to the ground. Green blood started to flow from his nose, tinged with red. Danny spluttered.

"Rule two hundred and fifty nine," Walker lectured, "No entering without knocking. Repeat after me, punk."

Danny coughed. "Go to hell," he wheezed, obviously out of smart ass remarks.

Then he yelped as Walker once again crashed his head to the ground. The white prison warden stood up, stepped back and signaled to the goon who still was holding Danny down. The ghost's smirk widened, and Danny seemed to sense what he was about to do because he tried to squirm away from him. Too late.

As soon as the goon pressed the button, blue lightening traversed over Danny's body, flickering and cracking. Danny started screaming again, and to my horror, the two rings appeared around his waist, turning him into his vulnerable human form. Even after he had turned human, the goon didn't let up, keeping the nightstick firmly in place and keeping his eyes on Walker. Walker frowned and nodded. The goon pressed the button again and stepped back. Danny went quiet. His hands were clawing in the dirt of the cave floor and he was breathing in short gasps. At least he was breathing.

All the while, I had been quiet, too horror struck to do anything, but now I started screaming at the goons and the cruel prison warden to leave us alone, he had no business in the human world, he only held jurisdiction in the Ghost Zone, and even that was debatable. He responded by casually pointing a nightstick at me, and moments later the same sticky goo that tied my arms to my body effectively sealed my mouth. I kept mumbling furiously, but obviously didn't make much of an impression any longer, if I ever had. Walker turned back to Danny, who was trying to get on his hands and knees.

"You are a ghost," he said, "You will not assume a human form. This is rule number three hundred and twenty three. Remember that."

Danny looked up. "I'm not a g..."

Walker suddenly jumped up, went transparent and dove right into Danny. For a moment, his face showed stunned disbelieve. Then he jumped up, grabbed his head and started shaking it furiously, screaming, "No, no no, get out, get out get..."

He went quiet. Slowly, he let go of his head and held his hands in front of his eyes, studying them. A most terrifying evil smirk appeared on his face, and his eyes flashed green.

"Interesting," he said.

Walker's voice. I thought my heart stopped. Walker's voice coming out of Danny's mouth. He looked around the cave, and then stepped forward, approaching me. My breathing quickened, and I started breathing furiously and noisily through my nose. Danny looked back, signaled one of the goons to come closer and then stopped right in front of me. He brought his hand up to my face, touched the goo on my mouth and it disappeared.

"Danny?" I choked.

I thought I knew him. I thought I knew every expression on his face, friendly, goofy, sad, happy, even angry, mad, full of hate. But this was something different. I had no idea his face could hold such evil. I flinched when his fingers touched my cheek, softly brushing my chin, and then placing his index finger on my lips.

"Hush," he said.

Now it was Danny's own voice. Which made it even creepier. He stepped back and again signaled the goon that had followed him. He drifted closer, holding something in his hands. I stared at it. Then I started shaking my head, trying to move backwards as the goon approached me. I was immediately grabbed by strong hands behind me, cold fingers digging into my arms and forcing me in place. The goon holding the device heaved it up, and quickly put it around my neck, closing it with a click.

Wulf's collar. The one that Walker had threatened to put on me the last time we were here. The last time, when we had defeated him.

Next to me, Tucker made a whimpering sound. I didn't look at him. I looked straight at Danny, possessed by Walker. He looked back at me, and for a moment I saw pure panic in his eyes. Then it was gone. The goon let go of me and I stumbled forward, having a hard time to keep my balance with my hands tied.

Danny held out his hand. I looked at the small device in it. It was nothing, really. Just a square box with a button on it. He pressed it.

I'm not really sure what I did then. I think I must have screamed, because my throat was sore. I know I fell down, because I was on the ground, but I don't remember falling. All I remember is that explosion of pain, white hot, searing through me. It tore me apart, and I had a brief thought about that this was what it must feel like to be torn apart molecule by molecule. All thought ceased after that though, and when I finally was back into the world again, Danny was on his knees, in ghost form, _begging_.

Begging Walker to leave me alone, to stop hurting me. Begging for my life. He'd do anything Walker would tell him to, if only he wouldn't press that button again.

Anything.


	31. Let it go

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**LOST**

**Chapter 31: Let it go**

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I woke up with a start. I jolted upright, looking around my cell fearfully, searching for Walker and his goons, but it was quiet. Close to me, on the other side of the bars, Tucker was sleeping. I could hear his soft breathing.

I pulled myself up into a sitting position and tried to take stock of my injuries. Some bruises, a lot of bruises, mostly located on my arms and my back wherever they had hit me. A few cuts, on my hands mostly, quickly healing. Nothing major, no broken bones or severe internal injuries. Walker was careful. He would lose patience at some point though.

I looked at Tucker. Whatever happened, I had to protect him. Better yet, I had to get him out of there somehow. I wondered if Walker would set him free if I ever managed to create a portal, but I severely doubted that. He'd lose leverage.

I put my arm through the bars and touched his arm. Tucker's eyes shot open and I saw his eyes quickly dart around the room before settling on me.

"Danny?" he asked, "What happened?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. I just woke up. They aren't here."

I moved my hand to my shoulder and rubbed the spot the Fenton Tracker had nested itself. It was still there. I wondered if it was still transmitting. If my parents were able to lock on to it in the ghost zone, they might be able to set Tucker free. Set the both of us free.

I closed my eyes for a moment and thought about Walker. Then I thought about the rules. He had made me memorize them in a cruel attempt to break me. And he had broken me, because I remembered every rule, but some part of me had managed to resist him. It must have been like that, because I had escaped. If I interpreted Walker's comments correctly, even if I couldn't do it now, I had managed to create a portal that one time and I had vanished through it. That must have been when I ended up in that cabin. And in the process, I had lost my memory. Or had I already lost my memory before I fled? I clung to that thought. I didn't want to think I had abandoned my friends like that. If I had, I didn't deserve to be free.

I would never be free.

I shifted and stared at the door, expecting it to open at any moment, Walker walking in to get me. I both dreaded and anticipated it. I just wanted to get it over with, just wanted to go through the sequence of trying to create a portal until my head started to pound, then being beaten up by Walker's goons or, like the last time, simply being electrocuted their nightsticks. And then blissful unconsciousness. Walker owned me.

Tucker sighed and I momentarily looked at him as he was sitting there, his back against the bars, close to me. Then my eyes wandered through the cell again, the corridor separating my cell from the cell opposite of me, the damp, black walls, and finally the door through which Walker always entered, just visible through the many bars blocking my vision. Animals in cages, that was what we were. I twitched nervously. What was keeping him?

It was because of the fact that my eyes were trained on the door so intensely that I jumped tree feet into the air when it exploded inwards. Dust and rubble flew through the room and I covered my face with my arm, at the same time trying to see who had blasted themselves into our prison. Tucker started coughing. The cloud of dust cleared somewhat, and I could see a familiar figure outlined in the door frame.

"Mom?" I asked.

Behind me, Tucker, who had dove to the floor, scrambled to his feet. I stared at the person in what seemed to be wearing a blue hazmat suit, wearing goggles and wielding a huge ecto gun in one hand as she scanned the room, holding some sort of beeping device in her other hand.

"Danny!" she exclaimed.

I stared at her incredulously. "_Jazz_?"

She lowered the gun a little, put the device away in some sort of utilities belt she was wearing and entered the room commando style, or something that looked like it, waving the gun back and forth, pointing it in every cell until she came to mine. I rolled my eyes, but couldn't deny that I was extremely happy to see her.

"Jazz!" Tucker said excitedly, "Get us out, come on, blast the doors!"

Jazz grinned manically at him and pointed the gun at the lock on the door of the cell I was in. My hand shot through the bars and I grabbed Tucker, pulling him down with me. Just in time. Jazz pulled the trigger and the shot grazed my hair as I was falling down.

"Hey, watch it Jazz," I yelled.

"Sorry," Jazz answered, "Get down. Gonna try again."

I stayed where I was and put my hands over my head. Another explosion, more smoke and dust and then she was next to me, pulling me up, hugging me. I clung to her, trying to get a grip on my swirling emotions.

"Jazz," I choked, "We have to get out of here. How did you get here? Where's mom and dad?"

"Later," she said, prying my arms away from her body, "Come on, let's get Tucker, get out of here and then we'll have a very serious talk."

That last part sounded threatening. I didn't care thought. All that mattered was that we were getting out of there, Tucker was getting out of there. My stupid, dangerous, haphazard plan seemed to be working after all.

It took Jazz only moments to free Tucker, and together we stumbled to the door, waving our hands in front of our faces in a futile attempt to dissipate the smoke and dust. There was some sort of corridor outside the room and we practically fell into it, surrounded by dust and smoke. I jumped up quickly and pulled Jazz and Tucker with me, suddenly overwhelmed by the need to get out of there quickly, before Walker could show up. The thought of the white prison warden made my knees go weak, but I steeled myself and pushed on, pulled Jazz and Tucker down the corridor, hoping I was going in the right direction. Judging from Jazz's lack of protesting, I was.

"Danny, Danny, I can walk, let go!" Jazz shouted.

I stopped at a corner and turned around, allowing them a moment to catch their breath.

"What is this place," I demanded, "Can you phase out of it?"

Jazz shook her head and placed her hand on the wall. "No. It's really weird. I thought that in the Ghost Zone, we're the ghosts, but they did something here. Or maybe it's a natural phenomenon, I don't know."

She stared at the wall, seemingly lost in thought and I regretted asking her. Next, she'd be trying to get a sample.

"I wonder," she started, looking around.

"You're not getting a sample. Where are we going?" I said, impatiently looking around.

I had a bad feeling. It was too easy. Walker would never let me escape. Escape. The word alone had me almost on my knees, had me almost turn back and crawl into my cell. Escaping was against the rules.

Jazz threw one last longing glance at the wall and returned to business.

"I parked the Specter Speeder outside. Once we're clear of this strange material, we can easily phase out of it."

"Where are we?"

She stared at me. "You don't know?"

"Walker's prison," Tucker said, regarding me worriedly, "I thought you knew. Way, way down in it. It's a long way up."

"I had a really hard time tracking you here," Jazz said, "It's like a maze. Corridors everywhere."

"You're lost?"

"No, stupid, I'm not lost. I left one of those tracking devices in the Specter Speeder. We just have to keep going in that general direction."

She took out the device she had been holding earlier and started turning knobs, frowning. After a moment, a satisfied smirk appeared on her face. She held up the device for us to see, and I saw a tiny blinking dot in the far left corner of the screen.

"Let's go left," she said, unnecessarily.

She took the lead, and Tucker and I followed her. We weren't running anymore, which made me very jumpy. I kept looking over my shoulder, expecting Walker to turn up any moment now. But he didn't.

"What's he up to," I muttered, following Jazz and Tucker around another corner.

We came into some sort of central hallway, with several corridors leading in different directions. Jazz didn't hesitate, but immediately set course for the one straight ahead of us.

Tucker turned around. "You mean Walker?"

My mouth twitched at him mentioning his name. "I can't believe he'd just let us walk out of here." I grabbed Jazz's arm. "Did you see anybody when you came in here? Is there anybody waiting for us in the Speeder?"

Jazz half turned around, not taking her eyes off the tracking device. "No, silly, who else is there. I sneaked in here a few hours ago, I saw Walker in his office."

"You _saw_ Walker? Did he see you?" I started to panic.

"No, of course not. Or I wouldn't be here, destroying his prison cells, would I. Come on, let's get out of here."

"Ah, but you're wrong there."

I froze. In an instant, my confidence was gone, my determination to get us out of there evaporating. That voice, the voice that haunted my dreams. Walker. I slumped down somewhat, letting go of Jazz's arm. I had broken the rules. Slowly, I turned around.

He was standing at the other end of the hallway, having just come out of one of the tunnels. He must have known we would be here, must have known where we were. It was stupid of us, of me, to think that we could escape. Escape was against the rules, and although Jazz and Tucker weren't ghosts, we were in the ghost zone, so the rules must apply to them as well. Walker was holding a nightstick in his hand, slowly slapping it in the other. I knew what that meant.

"Rule number six, ghost boy," he whispered.

I knew rule number six intimately. I tried to step forward, but was suddenly held back by hands grabbing my arms. Jazz and Tucker, trying to stop me. I turned my head to look at them sadly. They didn't know. There was no escaping the rules.

"Fight it, Danny," Jazz whispered, "You don't have to do as he says. We can just go. We're not surrounded."

Fight it? Fight Walker? I had tried that. It didn't work. I just had to get it over with, if I was lucky, he wouldn't beat me up too badly. I tried to shake their hands off of me, but they only tightened their grip. That was when I realized I could just go intangible. I phased out of their hold on me and quickly stepped within Walker's range. He didn't hesitate, but swung the nightstick, hitting me on the upper arm, and then pressed the button.

I was on my knees instantly, screaming. It lasted only a few seconds, but already the world turned fuzzy and unclear. Sounds were muffled, colors got mixed up in an unintelligible painting of faces going in and out of focus. Behind me, I vaguely heard somebody cry out.

Jazz.

Realization hit me. They would hurt Jazz, like they had hurt Sam. And Tucker. I tried to turn my head quickly, tried to see what was happening to them, which was just my luck because Walker had chosen that moment to try to hit me on the head with his nightstick. It landed on my shoulder instead.

Everything seemed to slow down. Jazz was clutching her hand, looking slightly stunned. The ecto gun she had been holding still flew through the air, swirling slowly, and then hit the far wall. The pain in my shoulder registered. I turned back around and grabbed the nightstick Walker was still swinging.

For the briefest of moments, brief even for my strangely slow world, I hesitated. I'd break all kinds of rules in this single action. If he ever caught me again, I'd be in for it. I'd be begging to have him kill me in the end.

I'd better not let that happen then.

I called forth my disgust of the ghost, of the death and destruction in his mind, his stupid rules which I had now in my head forever. I used it to feed the hatred, the despair, the frustration in my own head until I felt ready to explode in a red hot ball of hatred.

I was still holding the nightstick. The ecto blast accumulated in my hand until it started to hurt, and then I let go. A bright flash of green, traversing the nightstick, exploding right in the stunned prison warden. A fraction of a second, nothing happened. His mouth was open, his eyes bulging.

"Eat that, whitey," I hissed.

He exploded.

I was lifted into the air and thrown backwards, right into Jazz and Tucker, who then went down with me. Stunned, I laid there for a moment, slowly shaking my head to get rid of the ringing in my ears. I moved my hands, my arms, vaguely noticing the stickiness on me. I had trouble opening my eyes, because they too were covered. I rubbed them and then blinked, trying to clear my vision.

The ringing in my ears lessened, and I became aware of the stunned silence in the cave. Except for a strange dripping sound, all was quiet. No shouting, no ecto blasting, nothing. I wrinkled my nose. The air had a burning smell to it, quickly dissipating. Then someone pushed me in the back.

"Dude, get off of me, you're heavy for a ghost."

I pushed myself up and away from Tucker and Jazz, whom I had been laying on top off. Tucker moved also into a sitting position and then turned to help a groggy Jazz. They were both covered in green, sticky ectoplasm. Then I looked down at myself and noticed that I was almost completely green.

"Ew," I said.

Jazz stared at me, looked down at herself and then back at me again. "Wha... what happened?" she asked, confusion plain on her face.

I turned around and stared at the spot Walker had been standing. There was a slightly smoking, black spot where the warden had been, surrounded in a perfect circle by slippery green ectoplasm. It was everywhere, the floor, the ceiling, the walls, even partly in the tunnels, slowly dripping down, making the soft splashing sound I had heard earlier.

"Wow," I said.

I couldn't help myself. I felt awesome. Elation washed over me, incredulity at what I had just achieved. Power, too. I felt incredibly powerful. I could do anything. I laughed.

"Did you see that?" I asked, turning around to Jazz and Tucker again, "Did you? I totally destroyed him! He _exploded_!" I waved my hands to emphasize it. "I just... and then..."

My hand started to glow green, and I felt the buildup of power, the hot rush through my ghostly veins, making me almost giddy. I could destroy this place, I could simply let go of all the power in me and it would explode and like the warden himself, the prison would be no more. I knew I could do it, knew it would be the ultimate rush... Suddenly the elation left me, dropping me down deeper than I had ever been before. I stared at my hand and then at the black spot in the middle of the hallway. I had destroyed a ghost. Not just blasted him, or froze him, or anything else that was reversible. I had _destroyed_ him. I started to shake.

"Danny, let's get out of here," Tucker said, looking nervously at something behind my back.

A moment later, I knew why. An ectoblast, poorly aimed but close nonetheless, hit the wall right behind us. I flinched and then quickly erected a shield to ward off any other shots. A few blasts hit the shield, but it held, easily. Clearly, Walker's goons were a bit pissed. They were only a nuisance, not real powerful. There were a lot of them though. I dragged myself out of my momentary lethargy and suppressed the shaking. Time to go.

"Which way?" I asked Jazz, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice.

She didn't answer, but simply turned around and rushed towards the tunnel on the far end of the hallway. Tucker followed suit, and I brought up the rear, still holding up the shield to deflect the ecto blasts. I had no trouble at all doing that, but flinched every time I got a direct hit. I was glad when we finally entered the tunnel and were out of sight, if only briefly, from the frantic goons.

As we kept running, I noticed the change in the tunnels. The walls became lighter, the place less dungeony and more straight and orderly. Doors began to appear on either side of the now straight corridor, steel doors with bars. At the end of the corridor, a window, green swirling sky behind it.

"Change, Danny," Jazz shouted, "We can go through the wall here."

This was going to hurt. I remembered the previous time I changed, the pain in my shoulder from the still present tracking device, but there was nothing I could do about it now. I steeled myself, let the two rings appear around my waist as I was running and transformed.

As soon as the ring hit my shoulder, I felt a stabbing pain. My hand shot up to grab my shoulder and I stumbled into Tucker, who managed to catch me.

"Danny!" he yelled, "What's wrong?"

"Later," I gasped, "Let's go."

I kept my legs moving, leaning on Tucker, and we ran to the wall and then through it. For a moment, we were floating towards the specter speeder, then Jazz hit some button on a remote control and the door slid open just before we were going to hit it. The three of us landed on the floor of the speeder.

I felt Jazz push me, muttering frantically. Ectoblasts entered the speeder, hitting the bulkhead behind me. Groggily, I lifted my head, to see several goons hanging out of the window, firing at us. Then Tucker hit a button and the door closed. I rolled on my side and braced myself as the speeder shot forward.

Tucker was yelling something, Jazz was answering. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to focus, tried to reach that cold spot inside of me. I had to get rid of the pain, and the only way to do that was turn ghost. I had managed before when Walker ordered me to, but now I was struggling aimlessly.

A hand on my shoulder, somebody shaking me. I opened one eye. Jazz, now hoodless and goggleless, her long red hair frizzled.

"Danny, what's wrong?"

I opened my mouth and tried to speak, but the speeder suddenly lurched and I rolled on my bad shoulder. Vaguely, I heard Tucker yell, 'sorry, bad guys at six o'clock', but I couldn't care less. I screamed.

This was intolerable. Frantically, I groped around, rolling on the floor of the speeder while Jazz tried to calm me down, tried to keep me still. I could hear her voice grow more agitated by the minute, but I really wished she'd let go and leave me alone. Finally, I managed to get a hold of some handlebar on the bulkhead. I grabbed it with both hands and pushed my head against the cold of the wall.

Cold.

I reached. The feeling started in my stomach, spread around until it left my body and formed into a ring. It split, and then moved, starting to glide over my body. My lungs gave up. My heart stopped. I shifted. The pain subsided to a mild throbbing.

Quietly, I laid there for a moment longer, before sitting up, Danny Phantom once more. I rubbed my eyes. This wasn't something I was going to go through again any time soon if I could help it.

"What was _that_?" Jazz asked.

I looked up in her tear streaked face.

"The tracker," I said hoarsely, "It's in my shoulder. It doesn't agree with my human form too much."

The speeder lurched again and Tucker cursed behind the controls. I caught Jazz, who fell forward. Something started beeping.

"What's happening?" I said, struggling to get to my feet.

"Duh," Tucker said, "What do you think? They're gonna let us go just like that after your little stunt with Walker?"

"I was kinda hoping they would," I said, "They don't have anybody telling them what to do anymore, do they?"

"Yes they do," Tucker grunted, pulling the steering wheel towards him and sending us into a tight curve, "Look. Bullet."

I grabbed the back of his seat and held on, while Tucker executed a series of quick twists and turns, once going all the way around and heading straight towards our attackers. I studied them intensely, for once totally focused on what I had to do.

"Alright," I told him, "Go through that island."

He glanced over his shoulder. "Can't. You're a ghost."

"I'm not coming with. Go, Tucker."

"No!" Jazz yelled, "I haven't come all this way to leave you behind again. I won't abandon you! You forgot everything you ever knew about the ghost zone, you don't know what you're doing any more than I do."

"Yes I do," I said. I leaned forward and grabbed the steering wheel, forcing Tucker to go into the right direction. "I'm a ghost. I _know_ the ghost zone." I saw my eyes flash brightly in the reflection of the front screen and I grinned. "This is what I do. Trust me."

I could feel Jazz was going to add more to what she had already said, but the proximity of the island cut her off. I grabbed the wheel more tightly and Tucker gave up his resistance.

"Go!" I yelled, rushing to the back of the speeder, "Keep going! I'll catch up!"

I turned to watch the island fill the front screen. We were awfully close now and still picking up speed. I braced myself. If I timed this wrong, this was going to hurt. Just before the speeder hit the surface, I turned myself intangible and flew away from the speeder in the opposite direction, going as fast as possible.

It still wasn't quite fast enough, but I had timed it right. I slammed into the surface of the island with a force that would have knocked the wind out of me if I had had to breathe at all. As it was, I just laid there, stunned, trying to decide if the army of prison guards I saw approaching really was that big. I blinked a few times, brought up my hands to my face and rubbed my eyes. Then I looked again. Now there were about half of the amount I saw before. Good. No more double vision.

I rolled over and worked myself up on my hands and knees, making sure I stayed well hidden behind some ghostly bushes. The island seemed harmless enough, but I had learned from a previous experience that looks could be deceiving. I stayed well clear of anything that could suddenly jump to life, including innocent looking rocks and a murky glowing green pond.

The ghosts had come to an almost complete stop, hovering about ten feet above the surface, and seemed to be conferring. In the middle of them, a ghost which looked like a pirate. I knew him from my database, and from Amorpho's story. Anger rose. I'd like to say my blood started boiling, but since I didn't have any at that moment, that would have been less than accurate.

Bullet. He had attacked Mrs Crown. Just because she was my shrink.

They hadn't seen me yet. I grinned viciously, filled with a new purpose. They were in for a surprise. I stood very still and took a deep breath, filling my lungs with useless oxygen. I stepped out into the open and waved. They saw me almost immediately. For a moment, they all hung there, and we stared at each other. Then the lot of them came crashing down on me.

I screamed. I let out all the energy and rage I had gathered, and used it for the most powerful wail I could muster. I felt my body start to resonate with the shock waves I sent towards the approaching army. They were so close I could almost touch them, their terrified faces as they realized what I was doing, what was coming towards them. Then they were blown backwards, knocked unconscious by the sonic waves.

I stopped and fell down on my knees. From deep inside of me I felt the warm feeling in my gut, trying to take over once more. I clenched my fists and squeezed my eyes shut. No transforming. Not with that stupid tracker in my shoulder. For a while, my ghost form was hanging by a thread as I fought to stay that way, but then the feeling of weakness receded and I relaxed a little.

About a dozen goons were floating nearby, perfectly still. More in the distance. None of them even remotely conscious. I looked around for a bit until I found Bullet and stared at him. Slowly, I touched him, grabbed his arm.

I could obliterate him too.

I wanted to. I even started gathering power, with some difficulty because I hadn't recovered from the ghostly wail I had let out, but there still was enough of it left. I could blow him apart, reduce him to scattered ectoplasm, destroy whatever consciousness he had. I felt my eyes start to glow brighter. Too easy.

My grip tightened around his arm. I felt my face contort in a vicious sneer and narrowed my eyes. It was just like...

_Huge blue eyes stared back at me, black pigtails dancing slightly as I moved her, my grip tight around her neck. Then the choking sound, the feeling of a windpipe crushing, the snapping of bone..._

I jerked away. Blinked. Slowly, the ghost warden's second in command came into focus again. I shivered, turned around and moved away. I drifted back to the island and hovered above the surface. Then I started to fly slowly over it to get to the edge. Once there, I flew down, following the contours of the strange bottom of it until I got to the other side. Now, the island was above me. And right in front of me, against my explicit instructions, the Specter Speeder. Tucker waved at me. I waved back tiredly.

Just when I started towards it, I caught something in the corner of my eyes, a glimpse of blue eyes, black hair, a smiling twelve-year old face. I swirled, ecto blast ready in my hands, but there was nothing there. I looked around suspiciously for a moment, but then let it go. A future that never existed, haunting me.

Just my imagination.


	32. Far Frozen

A/N: I'm sorry, I rewrote the beginning of this chapter like three times and I'm still not very happy with it. But OK. Revelation time!

* * *

**LOST**

**Chapter 32: Far Frozen**

* * *

Fifteen minutes later we were still sitting there, floating under the island. I had phased inside quietly, feeling utterly exhausted, and Jazz had helped me 'sitting down' on the bench in the back of the speeder. I hadn't been able to make a sound, hadn't been able to meet their eyes, I just sat there, staring at a particularly interesting piece of wiring just below the door. A red, blue and black wire, twisted together, coming out of the bulkhead just right from the door, running down and then under the door, where it disappeared.

It must be important. Everything my father made, every seemingly haphazardly pieced together invention was always put together just right. Probably, even the colors meant something. I contemplated the meaning of the colors for a while, following the wires with my eyes, up and down, back and forth. Anything to keep me from thinking about... me. My life. My friends. My family. The fact that we were sitting here in the middle of the ghost zone, surrounded by dangerous ectoplasm and ghosts that wanted to kill us. The tracker in my shoulder, causing a dull throb, annoying but manageable. Sam, still missing.

I closed my eyes for a moment. There. I'd done it anyway. All that hard work, trying to think about nothing but the colors of the wiring, and there I did it again. Sam was still missing. I had failed her. And I was going to keep on failing her for a little while longer, because there was no way that I could go and get her, given the state I was in. Which was, being in my ghost form, consciously and actively keeping the warmth that was my human form at bay.

The moment I had sat down in the speeder, assisted by Jazz, I had felt the ghostly variant of adrenaline leave my body, and with that, all energy seemed to leave me as well. Two days of constant beatings, being knocked unconscious at least four times that I could remember, next to no food and the constant dread that Walker could come and get me any time, it had been too much. Now, the only thing I could do was just sit there, letting my eyes wander through the confined space of the Specter Speeder, still floating quietly, unmoving.

Tucker sat slumped in the pilot's chair, half turned, his eyes drooping and looking totally exhausted. My eyes stopped wandering and I studied him, for the first time. In the cell, it had been either too dark or the light coming from my ecto ball had been too green to really tell what he looked like.

Dark rimmed glasses, cracked. Dark face, dark, curly hair, not having been cut for over three months. Green eyes. A face which was made for a goofy grin, which was now absent. Instead, his mouth was set in a thin line. Strain was clearly visible on his face. He looked about as exhausted as I felt.

Jazz had been standing in front of me all that time, bending over and touching my shoulder in an attempt to examine it, quietly muttering to herself. I had managed to strip down part of my hazmat suit, revealing pale, dead skin with numerous scars. The most recent one, from the Fenton Tracker, was clearly visible as a half-healed wound, showing as a bright, green line on my skin.

I leaned my head against the bulkhead. Ill at ease because of the relative peace we were experiencing, I let Jazz play nurse. The feeling that something would happen any moment now increased, and I tried to suppress it. It was tiring.

"OK," Jazz said finally, stepping back, thus allowing me to get dressed again. With slow, tired movements I wiggled my arm back into the suit, wincing at strain on my muscles. I was beyond tired, I had to actually stay focused to stay in ghost form, which showed just how tired I was. In general, when I passed out in the ghost zone, I'd stay in ghost form, which I had demonstrated countless times during my stay in Walker's prison. Now, sitting here in the Specter Speeder, my human side was trying to surface.

I just wanted to sleep.

Not a concussion induced sleep, caused by repeated blows to the head until I just passed out, but real, healing sleep. But I couldn't do that here. I was convinced that if I tried it, I'd lose my ghost form. And then the transmitter in my shoulder would go from mild throbbing to excruciating pain. Sleep was out of the question.

Another option would be to leave the Specter Speeder, which blocked out most – but not all – Ghost Zone radiation. I'd have to float around for a while, collecting energy slowly from the zone itself. Doable, but dangerous and in itself tiring. Because, again, I couldn't sleep. I had no idea how long that would take. Danny might have known, but I didn't.

In my rather self-centered contemplations, I almost forgot I had company. Jazz seemed to sense my unfocused drifting, because she sat down opposite of me and then touched my knees to get my attention. I looked at her.

"I'm not sure what to do, Danny," she said, "It needs to come out, obviously, but it seems to be attached to your collar bone. And I can't just operate, even if I knew how. There's no such thing as a sedative for ghosts, as far as I know."

It took me a moment to realize she was talking about the tracker. My hand moved to my shoulder and I felt the slight bump there. I grimaced in pain when I touched it. Operating on me? Jazz? Without a sedative? No way.

"It doesn't matter right now, I'll need to stay ghost anyway. I have to go and get Sam."

I said it, but the words sounded hollow. I said it because I had to say it, but there was no conviction behind it, no meaning. Lifting my head a little, I tried to sit up straight. Almost immediately, Jazz's face became unfocused, and I saw darkness entering the edge of my vision. I leaned back again. Jazz rolled her eyes.

"Yes, of course, Danny," she said, "_We_ have to go and rescue Sam. But we need a plan, and not some half cooked one like the ones you seem fond off. We have to figure out where Aragon is, for starters. He's no longer in his castle, his sister threw him out. It says so in your files."

My brain tried to fire all sorts of signals, and for a moment I couldn't make sense of them. Then I somehow focused again, and latched on to a piece of information.

"So lets ask her. The sister."

"Yes, we will." Jazz rubbed her eyes. "I just don't want to go in unprepared. Her realm is on the outskirts of the Ghost Zone, if you can speak of outskirts of something that's endless, And it's hours away. We don't even have enough fuel to get there. And in case you haven't noticed, you are exhausted. You – we – have to recuperate."

Tucker spoke for the first time, hesitantly, as if he was unsure on how I'd take it. "Danny, I hate to say this but she's right. You can't see yourself. You look... dead. No pun intended. And last time you fought Aragon, he kicked your ass. It was Dora and Sam who saved you."

I couldn't just go home. I couldn't leave her. I couldn't. I shook my head stubbornly, then flinched as black spots momentarily danced in front of my eyes again. The speeder sort of lost focus for a moment, and I blinked and frowned to clear my vision.

"...anny?"

Jazz wouldn't focus for a moment. Then I realized she was speaking to me. "Yeah?" I asked.

They were right, of course, I just didn't want to admit it. Sitting here, trying and failing to relax, my whole body aching, mostly from the bruises but also from fatigue. I really was dead tired. And it would be so much safer to first return Tucker and Jazz to the real world before I went after Aragon. But that brought up another matter.

"Outside the Ghost Zone I'll lose my ghost form," I said, "I'm sort of alright in here, but I'm afraid I'll go human the minute we pass through the portal."

"Which is why the tracker needs to come out," Jazz said exasperatedly, "But I don't know how to do that. What were you thinking anyway, shooting yourself with it. Couldn't you just have taken one with you?"

I shook my head. "No, duh. Walker would have found it."

A stunned silence fell over the speeder. "What?" I asked.

"You mean you _meant_ for Walker to grab you?" Tucker asked, eyes wide.

"Yeah," I said, rubbing the back of my neck, "Sorta."

"You _are_ insane," Tucker muttered.

"Maybe. But it worked, didn't it," I said.

Jazz looked lost for a moment, then raised her hands in surrender and moved to sit on the bench opposite of me again. "We're not getting anywhere," she grumbled, "What we need is the equivalent of a hospital in the ghost zone."

Tucker's head suddenly shot up. He started grinning. "The Far Frozen," he said.

We stared at him. He pushed himself up from his slumped position on the chair.

"The Far Frozen," he repeated, conviction in his voice, "They've helped you before. Frostbite, their leader, he taught you how to use your ice powers."

"And?" I asked.

"And they have excellent medical facilities. He'll be able to get that thing out."

Jazz's face had brightened at the mention of Frostbite. "He's in your files," she said, smiling, "He's very wise. He and his people think you're some kind of 'Great One'." She frowned. "Not that that sounds very wise."

"They do huh?" I said, "Can we trust them?"

Tucker nodded, already turning around and studying the map on the dashboard.

"Absolutely," he said, "He's one of the few friends in the ghost zone we have."

He pressed a button and the speeder lurched forward. I struggled to my feet, and rushed to the small window in the side of the speeder to check if any of the goons had regained consciousness and decided to attack us, but everything was quiet. Relieved, I sank back on the bench. Jazz glared at me.

"What?" I asked. I knew what.

"Now that everything has calmed down and we've at least settled this," she said, "I want to talk to you about rushing off into the ghost zone and throwing yourself in harms way like that. What you did was totally... reckless." She swallowed, looked at the floor, then back at me. "Suicidal even."

She had said it. I remained silent, and so did Jazz. Tucker looked around, a look of surprise on his face. He opened his mouth to say something, but then saw the expression on both our faces and closed it again.

"I told you...," I started.

"You scared me to death, Danny," Jazz interrupted, "You are scaring mom and dad. The police found your backpack at lake Eerie. They think you might have killed yourself. They're beside themselves,"

"I would never do that."

"Wouldn't you? You don't give that impression, Danny. You blow up all the time, you take off and nobody knows where you are, you're moody and jumpy and you have trouble sleeping."

"I wouldn't have to take off if everybody wasn't so bent on locking me up," I countered.

She continued as if I hadn't spoken. "You're diagnosed with PTSD, Danny. Suicide rate is pretty high for people having that condition."

"I don't have PTSD."

"Do you want me to start listing the symptoms? I think they'll sound familiar."

"I don't have friggin PTSD. I'm not a mental case. I. Do. Not. Need. To. Be. Locked up."

I had risen to my feet as I said that, glaring at her angrily. She stepped back. From the corner of my eyes, I saw Tucker flinch. I closed my eyes and realized that I had been gathering energy again, making my eyes burn more intensely. I backed down, letting the energy seep away from my hands again. It was minor, only a trickle, but I felt it anyway. I was really, really low on energy.

"Look, just, quit analyzing me, OK?" I said, sitting down on the bench again and trying to reconcile the two Jazzes I saw into one, "Let's get to this Frostbite guy, get the stupid tracker out of my shoulder and then get the hell out of the ghost zone and..." I stopped. I had forgotten about the police looking for me. "And then I'm on the run again. Great."

Jazz was shaking her head, a sad smile on her face.

"You should have listened, Danny, back in the lab. I was trying to tell you. You're off the hook."

"What?!"

"What?" echoed Tucker, "What do you mean, the police are looking for Danny? What's going on?"

Jazz sat down next to Tucker in the co-pilot's seat. "Mrs Crown woke up. She described the ghost that attacked her. You're no longer a suspect."

"But..." I stared at her. "But...the police... detective Raskin... why were they at the school?"

"They wanted to tell you themselves, and ask you some questions about why a ghost would want to frame you. Tactical error. They should have known you'd freak out at the sight of them."

I swallowed. I was off the hook. They wouldn't arrest me, throw me in jail again. A sob rose in my throat, but I suppressed it. Instead, I turned around an leaned my head against the window, staring blindly into the ghost zone and the purple doors that we were passing at high speed. Behind me, I felt more than I heard movement. Jazz getting up from her chair.

"Please don't ever do that again, Danny, run off like that," she said, placing a hand on my shoulder.

I grabbed her hand, but didn't look around. I _was _going to do it again. "What day is it?" I asked.

"Friday," she said, "about two AM." She let go of me and stepped back to sit in the co-pilot's seat once more, rubbing her eyes. "I hope this Frostbite has a nice, warm bed. I haven't slept in two days."

I was looking at her from the corner of my eyes. "Wait a minute," I said, "You're accusing me of running off into the ghost zone on some crazy rescue mission, but what about yourself? Did you tell anyone where you were going? What did you think you were doing, taking the Specter Speeder like that? You could have been killed!"

"At least I thought it through," she said.

"Yeah, right."

"Craziness runs in the family," Tucker muttered.

The both of us turned to him with blazing eyes. "What was that?" we asked in unison.

"Noting, nothing, just trying to be the funny sidekick, don't pay attention to me, I'm only piloting the thing."

I turned back to Jazz.

"At least tell me you left a note."

"I did. And your jump drive. I left in the middle of the night, they were already asleep. As long as we're back by about two PM, when I'm supposed to be at Tucker's memorial...," she ignored the gasp that came from the front of the speeder, "... we'll be fine. When I don't show up there, they'll start... worrying."

"More than before, you mean," I said. I sank back down on the bench. "I can't believe... they've lost me, Jazz, they can't lose you too."

"Well, that's why I went after you, so they wouldn't lose you," Jazz said, sounding irritated.

I just shook my head. They had lost the Danny they knew long ago, and got a total stranger in return. But there was no arguing with her, I knew. She was convinced that somehow, she could make everything right again, and we could continue our lives as if none of this ever happened.

With unsurpassed clarity, I suddenly saw right through her. She thought, somehow, that she only had to try hard enough, that if she took care of me and my parents and everybody else, that everything would be alright. And if it wasn't, then somehow she hadn't tried hard enough. If I remained the way I was, if I kept blowing up at people, kept running away when things got dicey, if I didn't manage to somehow return to the Danny Fenton I used to be, she'd have failed.

She blinked at me, suddenly looking uncertain, as if she sensed what I was thinking. I swallowed.

"It's not your fault," I said.

Her expression changed. She looked angry. "I know it isn't," she said. She closed her eyes for a moment. "Let's just get to this Frostbite guy."

Tucker half turned in his seat and gestured at the forbidden, icy landscape that had suddenly appeared in front of us.

"We're here," he announced. Then, a little grumpy, "And would someone explain to me what's going on already? Because this is really frustrating."

* * *

Frostbite proved to be huge, white and fluffy. He and his people were practically bowing when we made an entrance, and, after Jazz had explained what we had come for, quickly led us to a room with all sorts of strange looking equipment. One of them was what seemed to be some sort of stasis chamber. I looked at it more closely. It was filled with a strange, clear liquid.

"Our regeneration chamber," Frostbite boomed, "Heals us. It can heal certain ghosts as well." He looked at me seriously. "You, for instance."

I looked at it with interest. "It does? Why? Have I ever been in there before?"

Frostbite looked at me strangely. "You do not remember?"

"I don't remember anything," I said, realizing for the first time that saying that didn't cause me as much distress as it used to. The emptiness in my head had become part of me. "I have amnesia."

Frostbite frowned, seemingly trying to wrap his mind around the concept. "But you are a ghost," he said, looking puzzled.

"So?"

"Ghosts are..."

"Ectoplasmic representations of post-human consciousness," I said.

"Exactly," Frostbite said, "Which makes you an oxymoron. If you're a ghost, then you _are_ the memory."

I barked out a short laugh. "Obviously, it doesn't work like that with me."

Frostbite studied me with sudden interest. I squirmed a little. He reminded me of my parents, looking at a particular interesting piece of ectoplasm.

"Look," I said hastily, "Can we just get on with this? I have something in my left shoulder which needs to come out. Can you do that?"

"Certainly," Frostbite said, and, gesturing at some sort of examination table in the middle of the room, "Please lay down."

I walked to the table, still feeling a little apprehensive. Behind me, Tucker started slowly moving towards the door. I looked at him questionably.

"Um," he said, and I noticed the distinct green color of his face, "I'm gonna go now. See ya!"

With that, he turned and rushed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

"What?" I asked, feeling a little hurt.

"Don't worry about him," Jazz said, looking at the door with a frown on her face, "He doesn't like hospitals. He can't even pass the nurse's office in school without freaking out."

I shook my head. Another memory I didn't have. My best friend, and he too was a stranger to me. Suddenly feeling each and every bruise, scrape and cut on my body, I sat myself down on the table, feet dangling.

"Just let's get this over with," I told Frostbite.

He nodded with that ever friendly expression on his face, and gestured at me to take off my suit. I complied, and then he pushed me down on the table. He reached behind him and I blanched when I saw the size of the syringe he was holding.

"Um," I said, uncomfortably squirming on the table, "Do you really..."

"Relax, Great One," Frostbite said, "I know what I'm doing. This will make you sleep. I have adjusted the dose to your size and your unique physiology. I have done this before."

Before I could protest any more, he stuck the needle in my thigh and pressed it down, pushing the blueish liquid into my body. I looked at him fearfully, and then frantically searched the room for my sister. She must have seen me looking, because she was by my side instantly and grabbed my hand.

"Don't worry, Danny," she said, "I'll be right here."

I squeezed her hand. Her face was close by, yet was strangely hazy, as if out of focus. I blinked a few times, trying to connect the green eyes to the red haze that surrounded them. Sounds became muffled, she said something and I strained my ears to hear, but it was just an incomprehensible stream of sounds.

* * *

I moved my hand, curled my fingers, waved it around for a bit and wondered about the strange resistance I felt. Something was stroking my skin, something warm and comfortable. I relaxed. I somehow knew I wasn't in any danger, and it had been a long time since I had felt this well rested. Still, I didn't want to open my eyes just yet. I sighed.

A hissing sound, like air being let in through a ventilator. Oxygen filled my lungs, but I immediately felt that I wasn't human. Pressure on my face. My eyes shot open and my arms and legs jerked in an uncontrolled movement. I felt the strange resistance again, but now I knew what it was: water. I was under water. And I had an oxygen mask on my face.

"Calm down, Great One," a deep voice grumbled in my ear, as if he was trying to speak softly but wasn't quite able to, "You are in the regeneration tank. Hold on while I flush the system. You can get out now."

My eyes found Frostbite, slightly distorted and hazy through the glass. Beside him, smiling, Jazz. And, to my surprise and relief, Tucker.

"Hey, Tucker," I said.

He grinned, still looking a bit green. "Hey Danny," he said, "Nice boxers."

I blinked, then looked down and blushed. White boxers with red polka dots. I heard a gurgling sound and above my head, the water level slowly started to go down. When it reached my chin, I pulled off the oxygen mask I had been wearing.

"How come I have to wear this?" I asked, still trying to find a suitable comeback for Tucker's remark, "I'm a ghost. I don't breathe."

"But you do," Frostbite said, "You breathe, even when you don't need to. It's a reflex. If you didn't have the mask, the liquid would enter your lungs. For a normal ghost, that wouldn't matter, but if it's still there when you turn human, you'll drown on the spot."

I paled. I hadn't thought of that. Being under water as a ghost or inside, say, a poisonous gas cloud ,wouldn't kill me, however if the substance was still there when I turned human... Not a pleasant thought.

When the water was down to only a few inches, Frostbite opened the door and I stepped out, accompanied by the last of the water. It flowed down on the floor, and out of nowhere another snow creature appeared and started moping it up. Tucker handed me a towel and jumped back when I touched him.

"Geez, you're cold," he said.

"I don't feel cold," I said.

Jazz bent down and felt the water that was still on the floor. "This is freezing," she said.

It had felt nice and warm to me. I looked at Frostbite for an explanation.

"You have ice powers," he said solemnly, "This liquid taps into your ice powers and uses it to heal wounds. That is why it works only on us and a certain kind of ghosts."

"Ghosts with ice powers," I said.

He nodded and handed me my hazmat suit, neatly folded and looking clean. Quickly, I pulled it on to hide my offending undergarments. I noticed both Tucker and Jazz looked cleaner too, although Tucker still had some dark smears on his face. They were both wearing heavy fur coats. Jazz saw me looking.

"The haven't gotten to the concept of warm showers yet," she said dryly, "It's alright for you to go swimming in that icy water, but I think I'll just wait until we get home for that."

Frostbite looked sheepish. "We do not have use for warmth here," he said apologetically, "I'm afraid our home isn't much suited for humans. He turned to me. "Try to turn human, Great One, to see if all is well now."

I nodded. With a smile on my face, I called forth the warmth, the rings that turned me back to normal, although I wasn't really sure what normal was anymore. They formed, split around my waist and traveled upwards and downwards.

The moment my skin changed from ghostly pale to normal pale, I felt the cold of the room. When the transformation completed, I just stood there, shivering a little in my t-shirt and cargo pants, but otherwise fine. Only a slight stiffness in my left shoulder indicated that something had been wrong.

If only everything was so easily fixed.

I turned to Frostbite. "I can't thank you enough," I said.

"Anything for the savior of the ghost zone," he said.

"You'll have to tell me about that some day," I smiled.

His face turned serious. "Your sister and your friend told me what happened," he said, "And I feel I must warn you. Do not attempt to create portals any longer. It is dangerous."

"I gathered that," I said, "You never know where you end up."

Frostbite shook his head. "If you ever manage to create a portal, control over where it opens op will come too. But that is not what I meant. I mean it is harmful to you."

I shrugged. "Gives me headaches," I admitted.

Frostbite gently took my arm and let me to the other side of the room. Jazz and Tucker followed. The big snow creature pressed a button, and on a monitor a cross section of a human head appeared, showing mouth, nose and brains. Frostbite pressed another button, and several black spots appeared on the brain.

"This is your head," he said.

I felt myself go even colder than I already was. Jazz stepped beside me and leaned forward.

"What are those black spots?" she asked. She sounded very worried.

"Damage," Frostbite said simply, "Every time he creates a portal, a vein in his head bursts. Most of the damage is minor. But here..."

He turned some knobs, and another slice of my head appeared, smaller, showing a different part of my head. A big black stain, covering almost half of it.

"O my God," Jazz said. She turned to me, eyes huge. I stared at the screen.

"But I feel fine," I whispered.

"No you don't. You have amnesia. And this might well be the cause," she said.

"They did an MRI at the hospital," I said, shaking my head, "They said there was some damage, not... not this... they would've seen this..."

Frostbite shook his head, regret on his face. His friendly eyes looked at me sadly, and I almost took a step back from the compassion that simply radiated from him.

"This is damage to your ghost side. It will hardly be visible in your human form, if at all."

"But..." I said. I stared at the screen. Then I brought my hand to my head. "But I could do it when... when I was...will be... I mean, will never be..."

"You were a full ghost then, Danny," Jazz said, looking sad, "Your future self was a combination of yours and Vlad's ghost half. Full ghosts don't have veins."

"Too much power," Frostbite nodded.

I wrapped my arms around me. I was shivering now. Frostbite reached behind him and held out a warm looking fur coat to me. I took it and pulled it on.

"So," I said finally, "Can that be undone?"

Say yes, I thought, say, just a couple of weeks in the regeneration tank, and you'll be fine. Then everything would go back to normal, I'd remember, I wouldn't behave like a maniac who should be locked up anymore and Jazz would stop feeling guilty for something she had no control over.

"No," Frostbite said, regret in his voice, "This is permanent. Never create a portal, Danny Phantom."

My world crashed again, and I looked at the floor. I tried to stay calm, tried to put it off as just another of my mishaps, my bad luck popping up its ugly face again. It would have been too much to hope for of course. A hand on my shoulder had me look up.

"Don't worry, little bro," Jazz said. She swallowed. "You can still be alright. People live with these kind of things all the time, they regain the function they've lost, I'm sure..."

"Stop it," I said hoarsely. I turned away from her. "It will never be alright again. Stop... beating yourself up over it."

I looked aimlessly around the room, attempting to avoid hers and Tucker's eyes. My eyes fell on a clock, hanging on the wall. One thirty.

"Um," I said, "The time on that clock..."

Jazz followed my pointed finger, looked down at her wrist and gasped. "Oh no, we have to go, they'll miss me if I don't show up at Tucker's memorial and then they'll find the letter..."

Everything turned all businesslike after that, and we hastily said goodbye to the friendly snow giant. He and quite a few of his people escorted us to the Specter Speeder, which was parked close to the entrance of the cave we had been in. It was remarkably clean. I remembered there had been scorch marks all over it, but now it looked like it had been polished.

"Wow," Tucker said, "Talk about service. Go in, repair the ghost, clean his transport..."

"Hey!" I said.

He raised his hands as if to ward off some attack, but he was grinning. Then, suddenly, his face became grave. He was realizing Sam should be here too. Our eyes locked. My face turned grim too.

"I'll find her," I said, with more conviction in my voice than I felt, "Even if I have to fight the whole of the ghost zone single handedly, I'll get her back, Tuck."

"I know. With you all the way man," he replied.

He quickly turned around and entered the speeder, moving up front to sit in the pilot's seat. I turned back to Frostbite.

"Thank you, again," I said.

He nodded gravely. "I have spoken to some of our people who venture out of our realm occasionally. You know, we don't do that very often, we like to keep to ourselves. But it seems that this Aragon you are looking for is at war with his sister.

He didn't say anything more, but instead held out his big paw. Now that I took a good look at it, I was amazed that he was able to perform delicate operations with it. It looked crude and lethal, with sharp nails sticking out. In the middle of his hand, something tiny and transparent. I looked closer.

"We retrieved this from your shoulder," he said gravely, "It had attached itself to your collar bone. Actually, we had quite a bit of trouble getting it loose. That is why you had to spend so much time in the regeneration chamber."

He held it out to me and I carefully picked it op. Immediately, the tiny legs started moving. I yelped and dropped it on the ground in the snow.

"It's trying to get me again," I said, "Jazz, you take it. I'm not touching one of those ever again."

Jazz, who had been standing next to me, bent over and scooped it up, together with a handful of snow. We looked at it, but it remained motionless. I moved my hand towards it until I almost touched it and it started moving again.

"Yaiks," I said.

"Come on, Danny, let's go," Jazz said.

She jumped into the speeder and I followed her quickly. As soon as I closed the door, Tucker fired up the engine and I had to grab a handlebar to keep me from falling. I looked out the window, at the figures standing at the foot of an icy mountain, quickly growing smaller and smaller. Then one last look at the forbidding landscape, the ice and the snow and the ragged edges of the mountain range. It looked unfriendly and harsh, and I would never have guessed the friendliness of the people here.

I grabbed the handlebar tighter. I could use every bit of friendliness I could lay my hands on.


	33. Reunion

A/N: OK. Seems this is angst day the second. As I don't have anything specifically written for it, I thought I'd just kick my own ass and edit the next chapter for Lost which I had laying about for... weeks. And especially for this day, I made it an extra angsty chapter in a story that is already dripping with angst to begin with.

* * *

**LOST**

**Chapter 33: Reunion**

* * *

I was out the Specter Speeder the moment it set down on the floor in the lab, yanking off the heavy fur coat as I phased through the bulkhead. The warmth in the basement hit me like a ton of bricks, and I felt sweat break out almost immediately. I had become too used to the chill of my ghost form.

As I stood there in the middle of the lab, impatiently waiting for Jazz and Tucker to exit the speeder in a more normal way - through the door- I started contemplating what story to tell my parents, the police, the Foleys. And the Mansons.

I wouldn't, couldn't, allow myself to think about Sam right then, where she could be, what she was going through. First things first. We had to prevent my parents from starting to look for Jazz, from freaking out even more because she wasn't where she was supposed to be. And I also didn't want them to find out what I was. Not now. Maybe later, sometime, when I wasn't so stressed over everything, when I didn't feel like I was somehow carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders, then I'd sit them down and try to explain. Maybe they'd understand. Maybe they wouldn't drive me away or hunt me down or pull me into the lab for testing. Maybe. Maybe not.

"Come on," Jazz said, sounding frantic, "It's five to two. We'll never make it, it's right across town."

"Of course we'll make it," I said, instantly transforming into Phantom, "Ghost, remember? I'll fly us there. Are you sure they'll be there?"

Jazz nodded. "Yes. They said they'd go even though they were very distraught by your disappearing again. We stayed in close contact with the Foleys during the time you guys were missing."

"What about the Mansons?" I asked.

I started to hover and grabbed both her and Tucker's arms. Then I turned the three of us intangible and phased out of the house, quickly gaining altitude and speed. Tucker whimpered a little.

"Wow," Jazz said, looking down.

"Don't worry, I won't drop you," I said.

We flew over the town and I concentrated on keeping the three of us invisible. A ghost, flying through the air in Amity Park, though maybe scary, wasn't that unusual. A ghost carrying two people however...

"The Mansons..." Jazz said, "They... keep their distance. They don't like us. I think they blame you, and mom and dad, for Sam's disappearance."

They were right. It was a little unfair to blame my parents, but I could see where they were coming from. They shouldn't though. After all, it was all my fault. If I hadn't been that obsessed with creating that portal, if I hadn't dragged my friends along to Lake Eerie, none of this would have happened. We'd still be living in Amity Park, the three of us, oblivious, happy.

There was happiness in oblivion, I realized. In not knowing things. In not feeling.

The small white church came into view and I started to descend. There were a lot of cars parked in front of it, the parking lot was completely full so some people had parked on the sidewalk and on a field next to the church. The neighborhood was quiet, houses far apart, the road winding through hills and trees. The church itself was a moderate sized white building with a bell tower in a large clearing, bathing in sunlight, next to a graveyard with a huge iron gate.

It looked idyllic.

I put us down in the shade, looked around and then turned myself human while turning us visible once more. Tucker and Jazz shivered when the rings passed through them. I let go of them and we looked at each other.

"Now what?" I asked, "Do we just barge in there or what?"

Jazz shook her head. "Let's somehow do this discreetly," she said, looking doubtful.

We walked to the front door of the church, which was open, inviting us in. We stepped into the dimly lit entrance portal, turned left and then hesitated by the door that would allow us entrance. Inside, we heard the church organ play some hymn. Tucker closed his eyes and pressed the door open. We peered inside. A wave of cool air washed over us. The sunlight shone through the stained glass windows, forming a colorful pattern on the floor and the many people seated in the wooden benches. Tiny dust particles danced in the light, putting everything else in a soft haze. The high, domed ceiling seemed to contain paintings, hardly visible now because the blinding light coming from the windows effectively plunged the rest of the church in darkness. The front of the church, however, the pulpit and the minister standing there, waiting patiently, were lit by a single yellowish beam coming though one window in the back. I admired the way the building managed to convey an impression of holiness of anybody standing right there at that particular time of the day.

The music ended. I looked at my watch. Five past two. The minister at the front gestured to somebody sitting in the front row, making the dust particles swirl more violently. He got up, a little unsteady on his feet, but determined. When he stepped up to the pulpit, I recognized him. Mr Foley. He looked pale under his dark skin as he grabbed the pulpit with both hands, after pushing his glasses back on his nose in a same gesture I had seen Tucker use. He looked into the crowd and seemed to gather himself together somehow.

"My... my dear friends. Family," he started, voice sounding rough, "Today it has been almost four months since my son and his friends went missing. We..." He stopped, swallowed, remained silent.

Next to me, Tucker made a strangled sound. Then he threw every semblance of discreteness and carefulness out of the window and thrust forward, slammed the door wide open and ran into the church.

"Dad!" he yelled.

So much for discretion.

He was halfway through the church before anybody made a move. Heads were turned, people were jumping to their feet, hands were clasped in front of mouths. Jazz stepped inside too, but remained at the door. I stayed where I was, in the hallway, suddenly overwhelmed by a feeling of wanting to hide. I stepped back. The light of the church grew distant, as if I was looking through a window. Darkness surrounded me. I watched.

Mr Foley stared at Tucker as if he saw a ghost. At the front, people were getting up, Mrs Foley, my parents, looking in stunned disbelieve at the boy who now had reached the front of the church and had stopped, panting. A silence fell over the room. Everybody stared. Then Mrs Foley raised her hand, stepped closer and touched his face.

"Tucker?" she whispered.

Even though her voice was soft, I could hear her clearly at the other end of the room. The moment she said that, however, the church erupted in loud voices and shouting. Mrs Foley flung herself at Tucker and hugged him tightly, soon joined by Mr Foley, who had stepped down as soon as he realized he wasn't in fact looking at his son's ghost. I saw my mother grab my father, holding him tightly and burying her face in his bulk. I stepped back further.

Conflicting emotions raged through me. I wanted to rush forward, I wanted them to hug me just like Tucker's parents were hugging him. Only the very idea of being crushed by my parents had me almost running away. I took another step back. My father glanced in our direction, an anxious and hopeful expression on his face. Jazz waved.

I should leave. I shouldn't be here, I should be out there, going back into the Ghost Zone, looking for Sam. For them to see me now, it would only add to their anguish if I had to leave again. Better I stay away, stay missing, stay lost. Tucker was back. It should make me happy that he was, that I had brought him back – OK, Jazz had brought him back. It wouldn't make a difference to them if I wasn't there, the situation would remain the same, it would just take a little while longer.

The darkness of the church entrance increased, deepened. I wrapped my arms around my body and tried to dispel the shivering. The cold tiled floor shifted, changed, formed into dirty rough concrete. The walls closed in on me, became black and dirty as well. Bars appeared, glowing green, trapping me inside. The light seemed a long distance away from me now, a single, far away star, blinking, colorful, signifying warmth and people.

If I took one more step back, I'd be lost. Plunged into the dark recesses of my mind. Forever in darkness. I stepped forward again.

A wide grin appeared on my father's face as he looked straight at me. I froze. He looked down at my mother, shaking her a little until she looked up and followed his pointing arm. She tore herself loose from my father and started pushing herself though the crowd in my direction. Jazz turned around, and, seemingly somehow sensing my desire to run away, grabbed my arm and pulled me forward. Out of the darkness.

My mother, closely followed by my father, reached us surprisingly quickly. People started moving out of her way when they saw where she was trying to go, who she was trying to reach. Right in front of me, only three feet away, she stopped.

The people in the church had gone quiet again, just like when they had seen Tucker. Only now they were looking at me. My mother looked at me with a strange expression on her face, as if she couldn't decide whether she was angry or happy. I looked away.

"Danny," she finally said, her voice hoarse, "I... I... I am going to hug you and you'd better not run away."

She stepped forward, put her arms around me and pulled me close. She was soon joined by my father, who managed to just about not suffocate me. I just stood there, arms by my side, trying to wrap my mind around their affection for me. I felt ecstatic. And terrified. Happy and depressed. Relieved and stressed. The whole whirlwind of emotions left me breathless. That and the fact that my father was choking me.

"Dad," I finally choked, when I felt I could take no more, "Need... to... breathe."

He let go then, and the both of them stepped back, although my mother held her hand on my arm, loosely for now, but ready to grab me if I so much as moved an inch towards the door. Jazz stepped closer, and through the crowd I could see the Foleys making their way to us. Tucker, the tallest of the three, had his arms wrapped around the both of them. His mother was crying, his father looked about to.

My mother looked at me, and then at Jazz, seemingly searching for somebody. The crowd, happily chatting by that point, noticed her doing that, and started shooting furtive glances in my and Tucker's direction. They were missing somebody. I swallowed.

"Sam...," I said, "I... I'll find her too."

"Oh Danny," my mother said, some happiness about my safe return leaving her, "I know you will. We all will. You don't have to do this by yourself."

I looked down at the floor.

"Danny, please."

I looked up again, startled at the sudden breaking in her voice.

"I don't understand. I want to understand. I want to know what's in your head that makes you so unhappy, makes you so angry all the time, makes you push everybody away, makes you..."

She swallowed, but didn't say it. Makes you want to drown yourself in booze all the time was what she meant. I got angry. Angry because it wasn't true.

"There's nothing in my head," I said, "And that's the problem."

I turned around and rushed outside, ignoring the little voice in my head that told me I was running away again. I heard quick footsteps follow me outside and I stopped, keeping my back to her. The sun shone down on my skin, warming me. A hand on my arm. I shook it off.

She was silent for a while. I could hear the soft murmur of voices coming from the inside of the church. It wouldn't be long now, people would start to pour out, gather on the parking lot to talk some more, discuss the miracle that was Tucker. And me.

"Where did you find him?" my mother asked.

More footsteps. Other people, joining us. I sensed them standing behind me, staying quiet as if not wanting to scare me away. Again.

"Detective Raskin," I said, guessing.

"Yes," he said, "How did you know?"

I shrugged. I wasn't going to explain to him that humans gave off a certain aura and that I recognized his. It would creep him out. It crept me out anyway. I turned around.

"You scared the hell out of me," I said accusingly.

"Yes," he said. His eyes were scrutinizing me. "I'm sorry about that. But you shouldn't have run."

"Hah," I said, "I wasn't going to let you lock me up again. Never. Again."

I made sure I looked at each and everyone that was standing there at that moment, my parents, Jazz, the detective and the Foleys, just coming out of the church. Behind them, many other people followed and started scattering across the parking lot. Some remained, however, forming a half circle around our little group, keeping their distance, but making sure they were within hearing range.

Raskin sighed, looked up at the sky for inspiration and then back at me again. "I heard there was an unfortunate incident at the detention center," he said.

I shrugged again. What was the point now?

"What happened to your face?"

I blinked, then touched my face. There was nothing there, was there? Then I realized. There should be something there. A big, black bruise. No way it should have faded this fast. And just my luck the detective showed up here at Tucker's memorial to see that.

"I heal fast," I mumbled, looking away again.

The Foleys stepped closer, still hugging their son as if they were afraid that if they let go, he'd somehow disappear again. Mrs Foley was trying to dry her eyes with what looked like a completely drenched handkerchief. Mr Foley smiled wanly at me, as if he still couldn't quite believe his son was standing right next to him, alive.

"Thank you," he said to me, "For bringing him back."

I nodded curtly at him. I couldn't look at them. They'd see the guilt in my eyes.

"Tucker told us... Danny Phantom saved the two of you in the ghost zone," Mr Foley continued. Those last two words were spoken as if he was talking about aliens invading the town.

"The ghost zone?" Raskin asked, his voice suddenly sharp.

My mother gasped and stared at me. "Don't tell me you went into the ghost zone?" she said, her voice rising, "You can't go in there! It's dangerous!"

"Tell me about it," I muttered, trying to read Tucker as he was standing there. I needed to know just what he had told his parents. He just grinned at me and shrugged.

"But I'm glad he did," he said cheerfully, "We were captured by some crazy ghost prison warden and put in jail. Danny Phantom got us out."

When lying, stay close to the truth. As by some unspoken agreement, we had decided to leave Jazz out of it. No need for my parents to start worrying about her as well.

"What about Sam?" my mother asked, "Why didn't he get her out as well? Did something happen to her?"

She meant, is she dead. I could see it in her eyes. I glanced around at the small crowd that had gathered around us. I saw Valerie and her father, Star and a blond woman that could only be her mother, several other people. And, standing behind them, half-obscured by a tall black man... Vlad Masters.

I stared at him, feeling my blood freeze in my veins. A very uncomfortable feeling. For a moment, I couldn't breathe, only stare. He looked back at me with those ice cold eyes of his, unforgiving. I swallowed. I wasn't done yet. I had to find Sam. After that, he could do with me whatever he wanted. But not now. Then Valerie, who was standing close to him, noticed my gaze and turned around.

"Hi, Mr Masters," she said, breaking the spell.

Vlad looked away from me and stared at her. For a moment, he regarded her coolly, as if wanting to lash out at her for interrupting his intimidation of me. Then a warm smile spread over his face.

"Miss Gray," he said formally, "How nice to see you again. And Mr Gray."

He started talking with Valerie's father and was soon joined by the Foley's, who had a sickeningly grateful look on their faces. I stared at him darkly for a moment, before finally turning to my mother again.

"Sam wasn't there," I said, "But I'll find her."

"Oh no you don't," my mother said, "At least, not on your own. We'll have to set up a proper rescue mission for that. No more going off on your own."

"You can't tell me what to do," I said, distracted because I was busy shooting angry glances at Vlad.

He caught my eye at that moment, and his eyes narrowed. Then he shifted his gaze to my mother, standing next to me, and to my alarm, his expression turned furious for a moment, before settling back into vague friendliness. He turned back to the Foley's, gracefully excused himself and made his way towards us. My mother had remained silent after my slightly rude remark. I looked at her. She looked back at me, looking lost.

"No," she said, "I can't."

Before Vlad could reach us, she turned around and walked away. Great. I'd managed to hurt her again. It took my mind a few seconds to come to the conclusion that I ought to apologize, but before I could go after her a hand grabbed my upper arm in a painful grip.

"Daniel."

I looked up. His face was impassive. The menace was still there.

"You will obey your mother." His fingers dug into my arm. I winced. "Am I making myself perfectly clear?"

"Danny, can we have a word with you later today?"

I whipped my head around and looked at detective Raskin, who was eying us with something that looked like distrust on his face. He didn't seem to like Vlad much. For that, he rose a few points in my esteem. I looked back at Vlad, and then pointedly at my arm, which he was still holding in a death grip.

"We're not through yet," he said.

He turned around and walked away stiffly, and I'm pretty sure only I saw the anger that radiated from him. To other people, he remained the wealthy, but oh so 'having remained himself' billionaire. I turned back to Raskin.

"Um, sure," I said, "How about right now?"

He hesitated. "I have to have your formal statement," he said.

"So write it down, and I'll sign," I said, getting tired of it, "There's really not much to tell."

He shrugged. "Walk me to my car," he said.

He walked away and I followed him, taking a few quick steps to catch up with him.

"How did you know where to find Tucker?" he asked.

"I didn't," I said, "I was just guessing. I was pretty sure our disappearance was ghost related because of the scorch marks in the cabin. If nobody could find us in the human world, it might be because we were in the ghost zone. And I was right."

"Did you remember anything?"

Only darkness. Pain. Shouting. Cold concrete against my cheek.

"No," I said.

When we reached his car, an old and battered dark blue Crown Victoria, he stopped and leaned against the hood.

"What about Samantha Manson?"

Sam. Sam who was still missing. Sam who had written a journal, a journal that was now lost forever in Walker's prison, left there in the rush of getting out of there. We hadn't taken anything with us. We had just left.

"She wasn't there."

Raskin sighed. "Come on, Danny, work with me here. I need all the information I can get if we're going to find her. Well, not me personally, of course. I've already called the GIW a few minutes ago, they will be on their way shortly. We need to know everything."

I felt someone getting close to us, a familiar presence. She didn't intrude, though, and I ignored her for the moment.

"I don't want to talk about it," I said in a tight voice.

And I didn't. Talking about it made me think about it, about Walker, about how he had controlled me, had beat me, had instilled fear in me. And about how I had obliterated him, how good it had felt. I turned around.

"Ask Tucker," I said.

My mother took my arm and let me away from the detective and his car. I could feel his eyes in my back, but I couldn't care less. In less than twenty four hours, the GIW would be here and I wasn't really sure what that meant. According to Jazz, they were a bunch of incompetent fools that still could become dangerous if I wasn't careful. And now they were coming to Amity Park in order to find Sam in the ghost zone? I didn't think so.

"Mom?" I said, "The GIW..."

"I know," she said, "Raskin told me they're on their way." She squeezed my arm and looked up at me with a worried expression on her face. "You have to tell them... us... everything, Danny, so we can try and find a way to find Sam. You do want that, don't you?"

Yes, I did. But I was the one who was going to do that. Not that I told her that.

"Yeah, mom," I said, "I want to find her."

Already, my mind was turning, trying to remember everything I knew about Aragon. It wasn't much. I hadn't really been paying much attention at that time, when I was reading the information in my ghost database. He was just one of the ghosts, nothing really distinguished him from the others except for the fact that he could turn himself into a dragon.

I had the feeling I was missing something, though, something of importance. A piece of information that was in my head, a connection to be made, but I didn't know what it was. Something somebody said, maybe, or something I saw. After a few fruitless minutes of trying to think, I gave up and returned my attention to the people still there. The Foley's, my parents and Jazz. All others had left.

"Why aren't Sam's parents here?" I asked.

My mother smiled wanly. "Try to understand, sweetie," she said, "Coming here, that would be like admitting that Tucker was dead. Which would mean Sam was also dead. They haven't given up yet."

"They were right in that," I said.

Again I felt the senseless, undirected anger rise in me. Trying to suppress it, I looked at Tucker. He caught my gaze, raised his eyebrows and then walked over to me.

"You look pissed," he said.

"I am," I said. I thought about Walker, how he had exploded. "This whole thing..." I waved around at the church, "They gave up on you. They just... I can't believe they just stopped believing you were still alive somewhere."

Tucker shook his head. "What would you have done?" he asked, "We were gone for so long, without a trace... don't tell me you never thought we were dead as well."

Walker's eyes, bulging. The blinding light when I released the blast through the nightstick. The force with which I had hit Tucker and Jazz, knocking them down. The ectoplasm, everywhere.

"Yes," I said quietly, "There were moments when I thought you were dead."

Moments in which I had tried to drown that feeling with alcohol, the utter despair, the guilt, the feeling of wanting to randomly lash out at people. At Mrs Crown. I realized that even if I hadn't attacked her, I could have. The fact that I hadn't completely lost it yet didn't mean that I wouldn't in the future. I'd been lucky so far.

"Are you going home?" I asked.

Tucker nodded, turned and waved at his parents, who were looking anxiously at him.

"Yeah," he said, "They want to keep an eye on me. I'll call you, OK?"

I watched him leave, walking away with his parents, who kept touching him as to make sure he was really there. I pictured Aragon, eyes bulging, completely silent for a split second, and then cracks appearing on his skin, bright white light shining through them, and then bursting apart with a terrifying wail coming from his disintegrating mouth.

With a smile on my lips, I followed my parents to the GAV.


	34. Out of breath

A/N: OK, um, sorry. This is kind of fillerish. And late. Got stuck somehow, and wrote another story for another fandom just to keep busy. Seems to have helped, because I started writing this again (FYI, I'm on chapter 36).

Anyway, here it is.

* * *

**LOST**

**Chapter 34: Out of breath**

* * *

The darkness of my memory had taken shape. Concrete floor, painful against my cheek. Soft glow coming from the ceiling. Cold, green glowing bars. Soft sounds, breathing, coming from the other side of the room. A human form, laying on the floor with his back to me, chest slowly rising and falling.

What was taking him so long?

I was motionless, just laying there. I had been sleeping or unconscious before, I didn't know. I just had this feeling of dread, increasing by the minute. He would come. The silent fear, the whimpering, pathetic little me that was inside of me, the little boy that cried for his mother continued to harass me, wiggling and growing until it grew into a fanged monster with claws and a forked tongue, trying to claw its way out of my skull. It hurt...

With a scream, I fell out of my bed, struggling and fighting with the blankets that had my legs entangled. I scrambled backwards on the cold floor until my back hit the wall. Eyes wide open now, I stared at the white figure looming over me, face shaded by the black hat, allowing me to only see the menacing green glow of his eyes. I swallowed and pressed myself against the wall in a desperate attempt to push through it. With a last whimper, I managed to look away from him, look down at the wooden floor. My chin on my chest, I moved my arms over my head, waiting for the blow that would most certainly come, punishment for not standing up in his presence.

It didn't come. I sat there for a long time, slowly letting the realization take shape that I wasn't in the cell, that the floor was made of wooden planks instead of cold concrete, that the faint glow was in fact the moonlight shining through the drapes in front of the window. I had worked myself into a corner of the room. There was nothing wrong. Everything was alright, I was at home, in my own room, safe. I should go back to bed, get some rest.

I sat there, on the floor, for the longest time.

* * *

Standing at the door of the large, rather intimidating house, I lost my nerve. I had raised my hand a few times to knock, but every time had lowered my arm again. I shouldn't have come, I realized, there was nothing I could say to them. There really was only one thing to do, and that was find their daughter. I turned around to leave.

Behind me, the door opened. I stopped and turned around again. An old lady in a wheelchair was looking at me.

"Um," I said.

"Danny," she said, "What a pleasant surprise in these dark times. Though I hadn't expected you."

I studied her. She was really very old. Sam's grandmother, maybe.

"No," I said. I looked down at my feet. "I came to say... to tell her parents..."

"Well, don't just stand there then, young man," she said impatiently, "Come inside. They're right here."

She turned her wheelchair around and left me standing in the door frame. I stared after her, then stepped inside and closed the door behind me. Ahead of me, on the other side of the huge hallway, the old lady stopped. I rushed to her. Now that I was here, I might as well get it over with. She opened the door and ushered me inside.

The room was brightly lit by the sun shining in through the huge windows overlooking the yard. The room was huge and quiet. The furniture looked like it had been bought to look good, not to be comfortable. There wasn't a thing out of place, not a spec of dust to be seen.

Sam hated it here.

The thought came out of nowhere and I stopped, startled. I didn't know that, right? I didn't know what Sam liked or disliked. I had only read her journal. A journal I wished I still had, if only to look at her handwriting again.

A short, barking laugh coming from the other side of the room brought me back to reality.

"What are you doing here," Mrs Manson slurred.

She was sitting on the edge of the couch, perfectly straight, holding a glass containing a brown liquid. Her orange hair was done perfectly, her dress was immaculate, with tiny pink flowers on it. And she was drunk, at ten in the morning.

"I'm sorry," I said, "I shouldn't have come."

I half turned around to leave.

"No, you shouldn't have," Mrs Manson said.

I stopped. I couldn't just leave. I turned around again and took three big steps that took me right in front of her.

"I'll find her too," I said, placing as much conviction in my voice as I could muster. Conviction I didn't feel. "I'll hunt down the ghost that has her and I'll destroy him. And I'll bring her home."

Mrs Manson started to laugh. She hiccuped and giggled and spilled some of her drink on her hand. It took her a while to get herself together again.

"You?" she asked, "You? Who do you think you are? You're nothing! Worthless! A bad influence on my daughter. A criminal. You abandoned her."

Her words stung. Most of all because they were true. The tight feeling in my chest came back. My mouth twitched.

"I'll find her," I said quietly, "Even if it kills me."

I didn't wait for her to answer, but instead quickly ran out of the room, past a frowning grandmother, through the hallway and out of the front door. Once on the sidewalk, I started running. I didn't know what I was doing anymore. I had acted on impulse, trying to fulfill a need to somehow tell Sam's parents that she would be alright, that I would bring her back, that their pain would be over soon, but I saw now that in reality, I had only been trying to convince myself that that was true.

Everybody had been talking to me almost constantly since the day before, when we had shown up at the church with Tucker. My parents, trying to keep me home. Jazz, trying to get me to talk about what happened in the prison. Tucker, saying we needed a plan before we did anything. The police, wanting my statement, which I, reluctantly, had given them, an extremely censored version of what had transpired.

Tucker had told them we had ended up in the ghost zone by accident four months earlier. A random portal had opened near our camp site and we had been abducted by Walker. We had been in a ghost prison until I had managed to escape through another random portal, going for help. It had been unfortunate I had lost my memory. End of story.

Today the GIW would arrive. They had already called my parents last night, demanding to interrogate me over the phone, and they, after seeing me frantically shake my head, had flatly refused. I had been traumatized by the experience, they had said, I needed rest. Come back tomorrow.

Which was today.

Jazz had warned me about the government agency and had told me some stories on how they had tried to catch me. They seemed to have some sort of vendetta against Danny Phantom going on, and although I had always managed to stay away from them in the past, they were constantly learning and getting better. They shouldn't get their hands on me.

Of course, right after my mother had put the phone down, Vlad had decided to pay us a visit. He was pleasant and friendly and he made my skin crawl. He was causing the same reaction in my mother, as I saw her rubbing her arms the whole time he was in the house. My father, however, was oblivious, calling him V-man and slapping his back a little too forcefully.

It didn't change the fact that Vlad had come to check up on me, and when he left, he insisted I walk him to the door. Once there, he bent forward, so his face was only inches from mine.

"Don't think I'll leave you alone now," he said, "Your parents will have custody again after the weekend, but formally, I'm still your guardian. Don't make me enforce that. I will see you tomorrow afternoon at four for an extra... practice session."

I closed my eyes and nodded. When I opened them again, he was gone.

After that, my father had ordered pizza and had insisted on a family get together in the living room, watching TV while happily munching at his pepperoni-cheese extra large pizza slices. We sat there the whole evening, talking – mostly my father - , eating – again mostly my father, and discussing the probability that the GIW would be able to do something about getting Sam back. There was a general feeling of hope in the house, very different of how it had been before, when everybody had been anxiously waiting for me to regain my memories. Tucker was back. They would set up a rescue mission for Sam. Everything would be alright.

The whole evening, I smiled and talked and tried to suppress the feeling of wanting to run away. Jazz was frowning at me every now and then when I looked longingly at the stairs, but let it go. Finally, when it was late and my father declared that there was no more pizza left, I was too exhausted to study any more ghosts. Not even Aragon could keep me awake. Until I woke up to a terrifying nightmare that had me sitting on the floor until five in the morning until my ghost sense went off and got to vent my frustration on the Box Ghost. After that, I had wandered around until somewhere in my addled brain the thought had come up to visit the Mansons.

And now I was running away from the house Sam used to live in, that strange, huge mansion that was in such contrast with the person who had been writing the journal that for a moment I thought I had the wrong house.

I didn't run for long though. Panting, I stopped right at the busy road running along the park. I could see the trees in the distance, and behind that the structure of Casper High School. I looked around. Emotions were swirling through me, and for a few minutes, I tried to get a grip on myself. I made little sounds as I was standing there, gasping for air, no longer from being out of breath from running but for being out of breath from life. I blinked a few times to clear my vision, but somehow seemed to be unable to do that. Instead, my vision darkened.

Suddenly everything disappeared. I gasped in surprise, then stumbled backwards until I hit the wall. Cold. Darkness. A huge space, large enough to contain Walker's swollen up form, angry and intimidating, shouting, his booming voice filling the room. I couldn't understand what he was saying. Fear pulsated through me, making me feel sick, making my knees go weak. I slid down the wall until I hit the ground, and then tried to wrap my arms around my legs, but they wouldn't move. My head bobbed forward and I stared at my legs.

Cargo pants. I was wearing cargo pants. And sneakers. The concrete of the floor wasn't the concrete of the prison, but the concrete of the sidewalk. A crack ran through it, and I followed it with my eyes. The sun was warming my skin, dispelling the goosebumps. My breathing slowed. The fear trickled away. I closed my eyes.

"Are you alright, son?"

My eyes shot open and I looked up. A big, red faced man was standing about three feet away from me, looking at me suspiciously. He was carrying a plastic bag in one hand, and a six pack in the other. I blinked and stared at the latter.

"Are you drunk?" he asked, taking a step back.

No, not yet. I tore my eyes away from the beer and looked up at him again. "No," I said, "No, I'm not. I just... I was..." I didn't really owe him an explanation, so I just shut up and glared at him. His face twitched, and he raised the hand with the plastic bag, trying to placate me.

"None of my business, kid," he said, "Didn't mean anything by it."

He quickly turned around and left. I watched him go.

The GIW, Vlad. Aragon. And those were just my enemies. Then there were my parents, and Jazz, and Tucker. I was failing all of them. But I couldn't let go just yet, couldn't give up. I just needed some way to keep me going, for now. I thought about Mrs Manson. My eyes searched the strip of shops on the other side of the street, until I found what I was looking for.

It was too easy.

My next visit was a little easier. Or at least, it should have been. After all, as I kept telling myself as I skulked through the long corridors of the hospital, Mrs Crown was supposed to be on my side. The guilt I was feeling, though, somehow managed to ruin everything.

I had found out her room number easily enough. Distracting the nurse at the reception desk by knocking over a water cooler, causing some minor flooding of the waiting area and lots of people running around, trying to find a mop and complaining about clumsiness, gave me the opportunity to quickly type in Mrs Crown's name in the computer, invisible of course. They I simply phased through the crowded hallway and the people trying to clean up the mess I'd made, and flew directly to the second floor without waiting for the elevator. Like I said, easy.

Room two hundred and ten. At the end of the hallway. The door was closed. Nurses were passing by, but nobody went into the room. I looked around, my hand on the door handle, and then let myself go visible again. I took a deep breath, and then quickly stepped into the room and closed the door behind me.

It took me a moment to take in the room. Light yellow curtains, open. Blinds, shading the bright sunlight coming from outside. Flowers, lots of flowers in vases on the window sill, small cards attached to them. People loved her, missed her. The guild increased. My eyes wandered to the wall above the single bed in the room. Get well cards. Hundreds of them. They were everywhere. Cards with bunnies. Cards with flowers on them. A card with a loopy looking frog, exclaiming in a little text balloon that 'things weren't the same without her'. None of the cards had come from me.

Finally, I looked down on the frail looking woman in the bed. Her brown hair, which had always been perfect, was undone. The left part of her head was bald. She had made some sort of effort to comb part of her hair over it, but it looked pathetic. I looked a bit closer. There was more gray in her hair too now. She looked as if she had aged ten years with that one blow on her head. Then I looked into her eyes.

Gray eyes looked back at me. One eye, still swollen, was half closed, the other was wide open, giving me that look. I averted my eyes and studied the yellow blanket with the squares she was under.

"Hello, Danny," Mrs Crown said softly. Her voice sounded hoarse, but friendly. I looked up at her again. "How nice of you to visit. I was wondering when you would come by. How have you been?"

I swallowed, but couldn't quite push away the lump in my throat. I remained quiet.

Mrs Crown studied me, then raised her hand and made a vague gesture. I followed her hand and spotted the chair next to the bed almost immediately. Slowly, I trudged around the bed and sat down on it. Mrs Crown turned her head painfully and gave me a wan smile. Now that I was close, I could see the haze that was in her eyes. She was still badly concussed. I shouldn't be here.

"I'm sorry," I managed to wring out of my throat, "I shouldn't have come. I just wanted... just... I wanted to say I'm sorry you got... hurt. Because of me. It shouldn't have happened, it won't happen again, I promise, I'll..."

Mrs Crown's mouth moved, but no sound came out. I stopped my rambling abruptly. She smiled tiredly and raised her hand again, as if to placate me.

"It's not... your fault," she said softly.

Yes it was. Of course it was. She didn't know that, of course, and I didn't quite know how to tell her that she had been attacked because of me, of my connection to the ghosts and the ghost zone, my own recklessness in trying to create a portal because I had thought it'd be fun... So I didn't say anything.

"I am sorry too," Mrs Crown continued. For a moment her voice trailed away and her eyes fluttered closed, but then she opened them again and looked at me, more clearly this time. "I heard they arrested you. That must have been rough. Especially in your state."

"I'm alright," I muttered.

I didn't look her in the eyes though, afraid of what she'd see in mine. Her hand suddenly shot out and clasped itself around my wrist. I looked at her, startled.

"Are you really?" she asked, "Did you sleep at all last night?"

I didn't look that tired, did I? Slowly, I first nodded, but then shook my head. I tried to move away from her a little, afraid of what else she might discover. I might as well have tried to outrun a train running down a track.

"Have you been drinking?" she asked.

This time I managed to pull myself loose. I glared at her.

"Why do you think that?" I asked, "Why is everybody always assuming the worst?"

She looked sad. "You're chewing gum," she said, "A rather strong minted one, if I'm not mistaken. Classic trick, Danny, if you don't want people to smell the alcohol in your breath."

"I'm fine," I said. I stood up. Who was she to accuse me anyway. She wasn't even my shrink any longer.

"Look," I said, trying to suppress the anger she always managed to bring out so easily, "I just came by to see how you were doing. Maybe that was a mistake. I wish that for once everybody would stop try to analyze me."

Mrs Crown sighed and closed her eyes. She really did look ten years older. My anger subsided a little. Slowly, with some effort, I unclenched my fists and pushed away the dark thoughts that seemed to always accompany my anger lately. Thoughts like how vulnerable she was, how easy it would be to silence her annoying mouth once and for all. I stared at her. She opened her eyes and stared right back.

Fear flashed in her eyes.

I stumbled backwards and almost fell down. My hand automatically went to the large pocket in my cargo pants, to protect its fragile contents. My other hand grabbed the end of the bed, and I steadied myself.

"I'm sorry," I said.

I hadn't meant to scare her. The fear disappeared from her eyes, to be replaced by something that looked like shame. She was afraid of me and she was ashamed for it. Great. I seemed to bring out the worst in people. She shook her head and opened her mouth to say something, but was interrupted by two things happening simultaneously.

One, somebody came barging in the door, carrying a pile of towels and sheets. She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw me and frowned.

Two, my cell phone started ringing that obnoxious ring tone that imitated an old fashioned phone. I had thought it funny when I put it on. Now, in this quiet room, where no doubt cell phones were prohibited, it was just that. Loud.

"Um," I said, nervously eying the nurse, who had gone from startled to angry, "I, um, I was just leaving."

"How did you get in here," she said, putting down the pile of sheets and towels, "Visiting hours are from one till five, it's now eleven thirty, you're not supposed to be here, young man. What is your name? Are you family?"

I was backing away from her in the direction of the door, trying at the same time to fish my phone out of one of my many pockets. I finally got a hold of it when I bumped into the door frame. I flipped it open and focused my attention on the caller, so I wouldn't have to deal with the increasingly irritated nurse.

"Hello?" I said.

"Danny! Where are you! They're looking all over for you! Did you run away again?"

I closed my eyes, leaning against the wall. "No, Jazz, I haven't. Look, I'm on my way, alright? The meeting with the GIW isn't until two, I have plenty of time."

"Tucker's here. You said you wouldn't run off on your own again."

"I'm not. I just stepped out for a bit, Geez, Jazz, you're not my mother, quit checking up on me."

"Mom wouldn't call you. She said you would come to her if you needed her. Don't do this to her, Danny, you're killing her."

"I'm not killing her!" I was practically shouting now. "I'm not doing anything! It's you guys that always read too much into my actions! You're crowding me! Lay off!"

With an angry growl, I closed the phone and stuffed it back into my pocket. It was only then that I realized two pairs of eyes were watching me, one sad and tired, coming from the bed, the other angry and accusing, coming from the nurse.

"Young man," the nurse said, straightening to make herself look taller, "You barge in here and start shouting into a phone! This is a hospital! Get out before I call security!"

"Nurse," Mrs Crown said, "Angela. It's alright. He's a patient of mine. He doesn't mean any harm." She turned her attention to me, having somehow managed to silence the nurse momentarily. "Danny, please. Get help. I know you don't think you need any, but just... please? For me? Talk to somebody?"

Anger still close to the surface, I looked at the two women. I straightened and took a step forward, purposefully putting on my most intimidating scowl. I could play that game too. To both my satisfaction and dismay, the nurse called Angela stepped back. Mrs Crown just looked disappointed. I wanted to say something, but the only things that came to mind would sound rude, so instead, I just glared at them, before I turned around and marched out of the door.

In the corridor, I started running. I almost bumped into the too-slow sliding doors, then again almost bumped into three nurses coming around the corner and then finally reached the stairs next to the elevators. I jumped down three steps at a time until I was out of sight of the cursing people I left in the corridor upstairs, transformed in a flash and in the same movement phased out of the building.

I was so out of there.


	35. Slipping

* * *

**LOST**

**Chapter 35: Slipping**

* * *

She was sitting at the kitchen table, holding a mug and reading the newspaper. It was spread out on the table, a little messily, and I caught sight of a small picture of Tucker next to an article, no doubt a mangled up story about his safe return from the Ghost Zone. Reporters had wanted to talk to him the day before, and seemingly they had succeeded... or they made something up from rumors. I knew he had left me mostly out of it and had put all the credit for his rescue on Danny Phantom, because below Tucker's picture there was a hazy one of me in my ghost form. What amazed me a little was that it wasn't front page news. It wasn't every day that somebody returned from the Ghost Zone after having been held captive there for four months.

The house was quiet, save for a clanking sound coming from the basement. My father, working on the Specter Speeder again. He had extensively explained to us how he was going to modify it to use it in the ghost zone, increase the shield that would filter out ectoplasmic radiation, add a few extra cannons for protection. We, Jazz and I, had listened to him quietly, not at all inclined to tell him that we had already taken the thing into the Ghost Zone dozens of times. We knew he fully intended to go and search the Ghost Zone in an attempt to find Sam. In fact, the only thing that was holding him back was the lack of information – how to find somebody in the infinite realms of the spirit world – and the fact that his heroes, the GIW, were coming in this afternoon. He fully expected to be included in whatever their rescue mission would be.

My mother had remained quiet through all of his ramblings. Instead, she had watched me worriedly. It had made me uneasy. She was suspecting something, was suspecting I would take off again, go into the Ghost Zone by myself to find Sam, and she didn't know how to prevent me from doing that. So she just sat there, keeping an eye on me, trying to read me. I had kept my face as blank as possible, but still she somehow always saw right through me. That was another reason I had left the house that morning without telling anybody I was leaving. I couldn't bear to look into her eyes.

And now she was sitting there and I was looking at her from just around the corner. I wanted to go to her and tell her it was alright, that I was alright, that she shouldn't worry so much, but I didn't. Instead, I just kept staring at her, invisible, until she suddenly looked up, straight at me. For moment, I thought she saw me, but then she sighed and looked down at the newspaper again. I didn't think she was really reading.

I pulled back and made myself visible again. Then I purposefully made some noise and entered the kitchen like the normal human being I wasn't. She looked up and smiled. I smiled back.

"Hi mom," I said.

"Hello, Danny," she said. She hesitated, and I pretended not to see the tightening of her grip on the mug she was holding. "You, um," she said, "You were out this morning?"

I nodded, trying to plaster a neutral expression to my face. "Yeah. Just getting some air," I said.

"Mrs Manson called," she said, "The old Mrs Manson, Sam's grandmother."

Crud. I hadn't thought of that. I rubbed the back of my neck. "Yeah. I thought I'd... I don't know. I just wanted to... I doesn't seem fair that we're here and Sam isn't and..."

My mother stood up, stepped closer and grabbed my hands. "It's not your fault, Danny," she said earnestly, "I think it's sweet how you're trying to fix things, how you're trying to help but I wish..."

I pulled my hands out of her grip and stepped back. "Why do you all keep saying it isn't my fault when it clearly is?" I demanded, "I got her into this mess. If anything, I'm the one who should try to get her out. I just need to..."

I shut my mouth with a click. I had already said too much, judging by the forlorn look on my mother's face. I was hurting her, again. In fact, I realized my entire existence was hurting her. I should never have come back, I should have stayed in the Ghost Zone, I should have had Jazz get Tucker home. My coming and going was putting way too much strain on this family. I moved back even further, stepping out of the kitchen into the living room.

"I'm sorry, mom," I tried, "Don't worry so much, alright? I'm fine, really. And Sam will be, too. Everything will go back to normal." I tried to smile. "I'll be up in my room."

She nodded. I didn't like the guarded look on her face. "Tucker's here," she said, "His parents called a few minutes ago and asked me to call when he left for home. Please let Tucker check with me before he leaves?"

"OK, mom," I said.

I turned around and quickly rushed up the stairs. My mom called after me. "Oh, and Vlad called."

I stopped so suddenly that I almost toppled over.

"He said to remind you about your appointment with him, that he expected you at four but that he could understand if you'd run a little late because of the GIW. He asked me to tell you to call him as soon as they left."

I gripped the banister tightly and tried to control my breathing. Vlad. I hadn't really forgotten. It was like a festering wound, a painful bruise. You could ignore it, but it was always there.

"Danny, what is that all about, him calling you all the time?" my mother asked, "What does he want with you? I thought you didn't like him?"

He's checking up on me, I wanted to say, he's blackmailing me, he owns me, I hate him as much as you do. No, more. He's an evil, obsessive control freak. And a sadist.

"He's alright," I said, trying to unclench my teeth, "He's not that bad. He's only trying to help."

"Oh," my mother said.

I looked down at her and saw the disappointment, the hurt in her eyes. I wouldn't talk to her, wouldn't open up to her, but I did talk to Vlad, apparently. Somehow, he got through where she couldn't. My hatred for the man increased. It was all I could do but to not let out a huge ecto blast right in front of her. I turned away from her so she wouldn't see the look of utter despair in my eyes.

"I'll be in my room," I said.

* * *

"Finally," Jazz said when I entered my room.

I didn't say anything, slightly annoyed by the fact that she and Tucker seemed to have taken over my room. I didn't really want to admit it, but my room had become some kind of sanctuary for me. Here, I could withdraw from the world and all my problems. Here, I could pretend none of it existed. Here, I could be me... whoever I was.

That last thought sobered me up a little and I sat down on my bed, making sure to keep some distance between me and Jazz, who was sitting on the other end. If Mrs Crown could figure out I had taken a couple of sips from the bottle in my pocket by taking one quick look at me, then Jazz could too. And she would do a lot more than just tell me to get help. She'd freak out, she'd think she'd failed, and I couldn't do that to her. It wasn't like I didn't have it under control. She didn't need to know, that was all.

"Hey Tuck," I said.

It sounded strange, coming from my mouth. I knew Danny had called him 'Tuck'. I somehow had the feeling that I shouldn't, that that had been Danny's privilege. But I couldn't let them know I was feeling disconnected from him again, so I smiled. He smiled back and gestured at my computer, login screen showing on the screen.

"Since when do you have a password I can't guess on the first, second or even third try?" he asked.

I grinned. A genuine grin this time. "Since I decided that I really like my privacy," I said.

I got up, pushed him aside and quickly entered my password, a seemingly random combination of letters, digits and punctuation marks that actually did have meaning to me. Tucker tried to catch it by looking at my rapidly moving fingers, but I knew that to be an impossibility. You can't get somebody's password when they're typing fast by just looking at them. The screen blinked to life, and Jazz inserted the jump drive.

Tucker pushed me away and I stepped aside, letting him do his thing. Jazz had told me he had designed the database, and he knew best how to use it. He was already bringing forth the information, the pictures, the relations to other ghosts, and the screen was soon filled. I leaned on the back of the chair and started reading over his shoulder. Jazz joined me and we engaged in a childish short pushing match before I moved over slightly, allowing her to see too.

There had to be something. I knew there was something. Something I should know. Something I had seen recently. My brain wasn't that damaged, I was still capable of studying, I still managed to do my schoolwork – with Jazz's help, admittedly – and I was totally capable of forming new memories. My advantage was that I didn't have a whole lot of it to go through.

About half way through the tale of Sam's abduction by Dora, to provide her brother with a 'unique' bride, I saw it, the thing that had been nagging me for the past day. And it was of absolutely no use at all. I leaned forward and placed my finger on the screen, next to the word that had caught my attention.

"Look," I said, "Look at the name of the country... realm... place, or whatever it's called. Look, Jazz."

She stared at it. "What?" she asked, "What does it mean?"

"Armagondia. Remember I told you about the knights, fighting in the middle of the night, and then one of them beheaded the other? They came from there."

Jazz blinked. "And you still have the body?" she asked, "You just kept it laying about and forgot about it?"

"Head?" Tucker asked, "You keep a headless corpse laying about?"

"Technically it's just a piece of post human consciousness without the consciousness," I said, "But yes."

I let myself drop on my hands and knees and peered under my bed. Somewhere down there, near the head of the bed, I saw a glimpse the dented thermos. I phased through the bed and quickly retrieved it.

I held it up and shook it. Then I pointed it away from me and pressed the button. The blue vortex appeared, and in it, floating only inches above the floor, the indeed headless corpse of a knight in black armor. When the body had completely formed in the blue light coming from the thermos, I let go of the button. The three of us stared at the grisly sight of the limp, very lifelike ghost corpse. Tucker and Jazz turned slightly green at the sight, but I found myself fascinated by it. Would it be possible to reconnect the head with the corpse? Would he 'live' again? Would it work on me too, or would I just be dead if they managed to behead me?

"How about that," I said, "He's useful after all. Let's take him to that country place thing and see if we can fix him. And we can find Dora there too." I frowned. "Cuminder. That was the name of the knight he was fighting. Pompous ass. He denied knowing about Sam though... I wonder why... and which side he's on."

I bent forward and studied the gaping hole where his head should be. Green 'blood' covered about half of his armor. I poked his chest, feeling the steel like material. A little surprised, I noted that I couldn't phase through it, not as a human nor as a ghost, using intangibility. Now this was even more useful. Quickly, I stepped over him and started tugging at his steel gauntlet. They looked a little like the things my father had in the lab, the ghost gauntlets. Behind me, I heard Tucker make a choking sound. When I looked up at him, I was just in time to see him flee the room, a hand covering his mouth, bearing a very unhealthy green color. I looked at Jazz and raised my eyebrows.

"You're not bothered by this at all?" she asked. She didn't look too good either, but she was holding her own.

I looked down at the knight. OK, so it wasn't a pretty sight. But it wasn't real, right? He was already dead. He was just a ghost. I had seen movies that had more gore in it than this relatively clean wound, and so for that matter had Tucker. Now Jazz being freaked out, I could understand. She didn't really like horror movies, but, judging from the collection of monster movies that was on the shelf above my desk, we had watched them, often. Tucker should have been just fine.

And then it hit me.

I looked down at the knight. He was just a ghost. So was I. That was what I was. Just a ghost. Pretending to be human. But if I was human, I should be freaked out by this, right? The fact that I wasn't, did that make me a little less human? An image flashed before my eyes, an image of torture and death, of screaming and deliberately taking it slow, prolonging the suffering...

Not mine. Not my memory. Walker's...

Seriously freaked out by the images and the fact that Walker had managed to leave a piece of himself in my head, I yanked the gauntlet from the double dead knight's hand, stepped back and sucked him into the thermos again. Then I sat down on the chair Tucker had just vacated, placed the thermos carefully on my desk and slid the gauntlet on my right hand. It fit like... well, like a glove. I held up my hand and wiggled my fingers. They moved easily. Intangibility worked just fine too, when I was wearing it. But I couldn't turn it intangible when he was wearing it. Seemed I only had control when wearing it...

I looked up when Tucker entered the room again, looking slightly better. He smiled wanly and sat down on the bed, next to Jazz. The both of them looked at me expectantly.

"So," I said, leaning back in my chair and trying to ignore the weight of the bottle in my pocket, "We have a plan, then?"

Jazz rolled her eyes. "Plan, Danny?" she asked, "What plan?"

I looked at her impatiently. "We go into the zone... I mean, _I_ go into the zone and find Dora, give her the body of that ghost there, so we'll be rid of it. She'll tell me where her brother is and then I go and fetch Sam and we can go home."

"What do you mean, _you're_ going," Tucker said, "We're coming with you. You can't do this on your own, Danny, you need us."

"I can't risk..."

"You have to risk," Tucker interrupted, "You need me. Sam's got the collar on. I can get it off with my PDA. You need me, Danny."

A wave of fear washed over me suddenly. Wide eyed, I looked at them, my sister and my friend. They were safe now, they should stay safe, but now it seemed I really had to take at least Tucker with me. And I couldn't do that. I shook my head.

"You can't, Tucker, there has to be another way. Your parents will freak if you disappear on them again. And they'll know straight away if you're gone. They hardly let you come here, and they're checking that you're still here. They called my mother to ask her to call them the minute you left here, so they'd know when to expect you back."

"So we go at night. I'll sneak out of my house, or, better yet, you'll come and get me. I still have that PDA with the snoring program on it, they'll think I'm sleeping."

I looked at Jazz. "Do I want to know?" I asked.

She shrugged. "Don't look at me. I was never involved in your stupid games."

Tucker rolled his eyes. "I have a collection of sounds. I'll put my PDA under my pillow, it'll make snoring sounds, and I'll put some pillows under my blankets. They'll think it's me, and we have at least eight hours to get to that Armagondia place and back. That ought to be enough, right?"

I opened and closed my mouth a few times, but I couldn't find fault in his reasoning. I needed him. He was available. I couldn't think up any argument that he wouldn't shred to pieces, other than the feeling that I really should go by myself.

"Does Sam know how to work your PDA?" I asked him.

Tucker shrugged. "Maybe. A little. But I have the diagnostic programs, I know how to use them, I need to operate them. I'm coming with, Danny, you can't stop me."

"What if it takes longer than those eight hours," I said. I jumped to my feet and started pacing the room. "What if they find out you're not there after all. How are we going to explain that."

"Easy," Tucker said, face suddenly hardening, "We're looking for Sam. That takes priority over everything else, Danny. Why can't you see that?"

Why couldn't I? I stared at him, and then at Jazz. He was right. Of course he was right. I just didn't want him to be right. I wanted to believe I just could pop into the Ghost Zone, grab Sam and then pop out again. That was how it should be. I shouldn't need to bring the one person who had survived Walker's prison with me, had supported me through it all, had quite literally kept me human. I needed for him to be safe.

And then suddenly Jazz was on my side. "The Fenton Phones," she said.

"Huh?" I said. Tucker just scowled at her.

"The Fenton Phones," she repeated, getting excited, "You could take Tucker's PDA, you could wear the Fenton Phones, which also has a little camera on it, and you could have Tucker instruct you. Or better yet..." She looked at Tucker, "Tucker could remotely operate his PDA. I'm sure he'll be able to set up some sort of connection directly to it. The only thing you'd need to do is connect his PDA to the collar..."

I jumped up, grinning. "Jazz, that's just pure genius," I said, "That'll work. Tucker wouldn't even have to leave his own house then... you could use your laptop for that, right?"

Tucker's scowl deepened, but now he also seemed fascinated. The expression on his face changed into a frown.

"I think I could," he said, voice trailing as he thought about the possibilities, "I could use the com link from the Fenton Phones, use the same frequency, I'd have to compensate for ecto radiation of course, but if I took apart one set of those phones... you know, I think I might actually be able to do that!"

"Great!" I said, "How long?"

Tucker scratched his head. "Um... I don't know. If I worked on it the whole night... maybe tomorrow..."

I groaned. "Tonight, Tucker, I need it tonight," I said, "I have to get Sam out. I can't wait another day."

Jazz got up. "Tucker, you work on setting up the connection. Danny and I will go and talk to Dora."

"If I thought it was too dangerous for Tucker I'm not going to take you, Jazz," I said angrily.

"We're just going to talk to Dora," Jazz said reasonably, "We need information, Danny. We need to do something while we're waiting for Tucker to do his magic. We might as well try and talk to her."

I sank down on my chair again. Both Tucker and Jazz looked at me in triumph, as if they had somehow beaten me. Didn't they realize how they were increasing the pressure on me, how they were just adding to my many worries? Besides, I didn't want to talk, I wanted to act. Blast something, shoot somebody. Preferably Aragon.

"Alright, you win," I said.

I got up, mumbled something about needing to use the bathroom and left the room. Then, because it was expected of me, I did enter the bathroom and locked the door behind me. For a moment, I just stood there, listening to the sounds of the house. All was quiet. Outside, a car passed by. I walked over to the window and peered outside through the crack. The street was empty. Then I turned around and leaned on the wash basin. The boy in the mirror looked back at me.

I looked normal. Just a seventeen year old boy, looking a bit tired. OK, a lot tired. I stared into my eyes. Nothing indicated the turmoil behind them, the swaying emotions, the increasing instability. I needed to hold it together though, if only for a little while longer. I had rescued Tucker... well, technically, Jazz had, but I had found him. I would rescue Sam too. And then everything would be fine. I had to believe that.

I took out the small bottle with the clear liquid from my pocket and stared at it for a while. Then I put it back. Jazz would notice. I'd better save it until later and use some of it to be able to sleep. I frowned. The level was going down too fast. I definitely had to save some. I left the bathroom, trying to ignore the churning feeling in my gut.

Maybe I was just hungry.

* * *

_Before you all start, I would like to point out that, by writing this story first person POV, what you see here are Danny's thoughts, Danny's way of looking at things (most specifically, his thinking that alcohol will solve his problems). Not mine. I'm just the one driving him over the edge._

_And I'm sorry, cardinal, for driving you crazy. Fixed it in the previous chapter and the one that you reviewed, but I'm sure there's more... I seem to have a blind spot for certain words that I always misspell, and the stupid spelling checker doesn't catch that sort of thing :(_


	36. GIW

A/N: Well hi... guess what. I just finished typing up the draft for chapter 38... which sort of got things moving again and moved the plot along to the next part. It also ended in a way I hadn't anticipated, but I'll have to deal with that waaaay later. So there was no real reason to hold back this chapter any longer.

Warning: ... well. All warnings still hold, I guess. Remember, Danny's thoughts are his own, me, I'm doing the pushing... :)

* * *

**LOST**

**Chapter 36: GIW**

* * *

At exactly two o'clock, fifteen minutes after my ghost sense had gone off, I phased back into my room and transformed into my human half. Jazz and Tucker, who had been covering for me, jumped up. I could see the questions burning inside of them, but they knew better than to ask them right then and there, allowing me to settle down first. I felt the adrenaline still sear though my body, making me restless and jumpy and strangely content. It was like a drug, I realized, something to be used to focus on the things I had to do. As long as I was fighting, I didn't have to worry too much about frighteningly real flashbacks.

I was wrong again, of course, but I wouldn't find that out until much later.

"Did you catch him?" Tucker asked, glancing at my alarm clock, "Or it? Or whatever that thing was?"

"Sure," I said, grinning and holding up the thermos, "Just took me a while to sweep up all the pieces, that's all."

Jazz stepped closer and grabbed my arm, the one I had used to hold up the thermos, obviously having caught sight of the fresh burn marks on it.

"What's this?" she demanded, "What happened? Why is it still there, your wounds are supposed to mostly disappear when you transform."

I tried to turn my arm to have a look at it. It only stung a bit, but it looked painful. I shrugged.

"I'll wear long sleeves," I said, "They won't notice. Are they there yet?"

Jazz opened her mouth to answer when a loud rumbling interrupted her. The three of us hurried to the window and looked outside. My jaw dropped. Turning into our street was a caravan of at least ten white vans, one after the other, pulling up to our house. The last to turn the corner was a huge white truck. The lot of them approached until the first van came to our front door, where it stopped. The driver of the second van obviously wasn't paying too much attention, because he had to hit the brakes when he noticed that the vehicle in front of him was no longer moving. The third van then collided with the second van, which resulted in it colliding with the first van. The rest of the vans and the trucks managed to stop undamaged. I shook my head.

"This," I said, trying to wrap my mind around what I was seeing, "Is the GIW?"

Jazz bit her lip. She looked both amused and scared.

"Don't let their incompetence fool you," she said, "Alone, they're just fools. Together... well, there's a lot of them. If they catch you..."

"They're fools," I said, looking at the men in the white suits getting out of the vans, "They're not going to catch me."

Tucker shook his head. "Don't underestimate them, Danny," he said, uncharacteristically serious, "They're getting better, their weapons are getting better and they can seriously hurt you. And there's a lot of them, and even more where they came from. You can't beat them. Don't let them suspect you of anything ghostly."

I rolled my eyes, but the adrenaline rush I had felt before was wearing off, making me long for a sip of vodka again to suppress the fear and anxiety that were resurfacing. I turned away from the window and walked to the door.

"Go on ahead," I said to Jazz and Tucker who were following me, "I'll be down in a minute."

I turned to enter the bathroom.

"Again?" Tucker asked, "Are you alright? Or are you just nervous?"

I shook my head and gave him a lopsided smile, suppressing a twitch. "Ghost fights make me thirsty," I said truthfully, and then, less truthfully, "I'm just going to drink some water."

I closed the door behind me and again found myself in the bathroom. This time, I didn't hesitate. I couldn't afford to appear nervous and all jittery, the way I was feeling now. I _had_ to relax. I pulled out the bottle, unscrewed the lid and quickly gulped some of it down it down. The liquid burned my throat and brought tears to my eyes. I stopped, grabbed the sink and waited for the burning sensation in my chest to subside. I sniffed and looked in the mirror. Still nothing wrong, right?

I screwed the lid back on, placed the bottle in my pocket once more and took out a piece of gum from the package. I chewed on it, waiting for the slightly dizzy feeling to overcome my anxiety. Finally, having waited long enough and not wanting anybody downstairs to wonder where I was, I left the bathroom and slowly made my way down, making sure to keep my hand on the banister, as not to give away the slight sway in my walking.

I could do this.

About halfway down they saw me. Six huge men, all bald, all wearing immaculate white suits and dark sunglasses, turned as one and stared at me as I was stepping down the stairs. My parents, even my father, looked small in comparison, although my father certainly wasn't a small man by any standard. When I looked closer, I noticed that he wasn't in fact smaller than the Guys in White, but just appeared so because of their overwhelming presence. He smiled uncertainly at me, as if torn between his admiration for the government agency and his anxiety of what they were doing here. Tucker and Jazz were seated on the couch, aside, as if they didn't matter. They looked distinctly uncomfortable.

A silence fell over the room. I reached the bottom of the stairs and stopped, staring back at them.

"What?" I asked, "Why are you all staring?"

To my satisfaction, I sounded sullen, annoyed. Not nervous. My voice didn't quaver, my hands didn't shake. I was in control again. Feeling bold, I let go of the banister and calmly walked right into the middle of them. There, I stopped.

"Well?" I asked.

Somehow, that seemed to break the spell. Three of the guys stepped back and leaned against the wall next to the door to the kitchen. My father put his arm around my mother, who was looking at me in surprise. Jazz frowned at me, but didn't move from the couch. I sat down in one of the chairs. The other three GIW did the same. One of them, a black man, seemingly in charge, flipped open a notebook.

"Daniel Fenton," he said.

"Danny," I said.

He looked up, raised his eyebrows, and then looked down at his notebook again. "It says Daniel here," he said.

I rolled my eyes but let it slide. If they were going to be annoying about it, so be it. It reminded me of Vlad though, but I squashed the tinge of unease that brought about. Vlad was the least of my worries right now.

"Fine," I said, leaning back, "Who are you?"

He looked up again and stared at me. Silence settled over the room. I supposed I should have been intimidated by his look, but I wasn't. I stared right back, defiantly.

"My name is irrelevant," he said finally, "You may refer to me as agent Z. Please recount to us exactly what happened when you were abducted by the evil ghost named..." He looked down at this notebook, "...Walker."

I laughed. I probably shouldn't have, but it was funny. They all stared at me, and from the corner of my eyes I could see my mother grab my father's hand. I stopped abruptly and leaned forward, staring intently at agent Z.

"Amnesia," I said.

I sat back and crossed my arms, only just managing to keep myself from smirking at the man. He stared at me for a moment, and then looked down at this notebook and wrote down a single word. Amnesia, no doubt. I felt like laughing again, and realized I probably had drunk a bit too much of the vodka, and it was slowly making me lose control. Realizing that almost made me panic. I looked at my mother.

"Can I have some water, please," I asked her, "I'm thirsty..."

Tucker's eyebrows shot up and he looked at me in amazement. It took me a moment to realize that I had already used that excuse. I didn't meet his gaze, but kept my eyes on my mother, who nodded and untangled herself from my father's embrace to get me some. I turned my attention back to agent Z, who was looking at me impatiently.

"You don't remember anything about it?" he asked, looking skeptical.

I shook my head. "That's generally what amnesia means, yes," I said.

He obviously didn't like my flippant behavior, and neither did Jazz. She was now scowling so ferociously at me that I'd better make myself scarce once the GIW were gone. I wasn't in the mood for one of her lectures.

My mother came back and handed me a glass of water. I didn't waste time, nor did I check it for any strange glow. I just gulped it down quickly, hoping that it would clear my mind somewhat.

"Thanks," I muttered, putting the glass down.

"If you're quite ready," agent Z said, "Then maybe you can tell us how you got into the Ghost Zone the second time and found Tucker Foley here."

I had already told a censored version to detective Raskin, so I repeated it to the large GIW agent. I had gone to our camping spot near Lake Eerie to hide, and a portal had opened. I had simply stepped inside, expecting to find Tucker there and I did. Unfortunately, Walker had captured me. Danny Phantom had set us free and had brought us back to the church, where Tucker had rushed in and had been reunited with his family. End of story."

Agent Z shook his head and closed the notebook. "We checked the camping site," he said, "We didn't detect any ghostly activity there."

Incompetent, all of them. I looked at them, and for a moment considered telling them that. I only just managed to hold back.

"Behind the waterfall," I said instead, "Did you check there?"

Agent Z blinked, and then looked back at the GIW standing behind him. "Agent X," he said, "Look into it."

The man nodded, bent his head slightly to the side and spoke into what seemed to be some sort of microphone attached to his collar. Again, I wanted to laugh and again, I suppressed it. There was some movement by the door and it opened, showing two new agents, carrying in a crate. They were followed by two more, wheeling in some sort of device, about five feet tall, with all sorts of meters and dials. My father let go of my mother and jumped forward, eyes gleaming with interest.

"A ghost detector!" he exclaimed, "Is this the GD2000? I've heard about it. Can it really neutralize a class six ghost within a hundred yards? You know, I have a few ideas for that, in fact, in my lab..."

"We know all about your lab," the GIW agent pushing the device said impatiently, "And you're going to help us put this thing there. We are going to make sure we catch any ghost that comes out of your portal."

My father, still oblivious, nodded enthusiastically. I wondered what a class six ghost was and glanced at Tucker. He was frowning, a pensive look on his face. No help there. I sighed, leaned back and closed my eyes. I heard the GIW man and my father stumble down the stairs to the lab, and then their voices drifting up, my father's loud, the GIW man's soft and sounding irritated. I smiled. My father had that effect on people.

"Daniel."

I shot up. I hadn't fallen asleep, had I? I wanted to though. "Huh?" I asked.

Agent Z looked at me sternly. "Let's go over your story one more time. What did Walker say to you, why was he keeping you there?"

I thought about Walker. He had exploded nicely, showering us in ectoplasm. I felt like doing it again.

"I don't know," I said, "Something about breaking the rules. How am I supposed to know why a ghost does what he does?"

Oh, the irony. I knew exactly why a ghost did what he did. After all, I was one. Ghosts were obsessed, and Walker's thing was torture. And rules, of course, mustn't forget the rules. Rule five. No escaping. Rule number six. Disobedience of the rules will be punished. I rubbed my shoulder, where Walker had hit me with the nightstick. My mind started rattling out the rules one by one, and I had a hard time keeping my mouth shut and not simply recite them to the annoyed looking GIW.

He pressed his lips together, glared at me and then looked at my parents, closing his notebook. "We'll bring in the rest of our equipment now," he said, "Could you make us some coffee? You don't have to make us dinner, we've ordered catering." He turned to me. "You, go with agent X over here."

I blinked. Agent Z had already gotten up and turned his back on me. Hesitantly, I got up too.

"What are you gonna do?" I asked, "Are you setting up a rescue mission? Are you going into the Ghost Zone to get Sam? Because..."

I stopped when agent X started laughing. I looked around. The other agents were smiling, shaking their heads. My mother looked sad and shook her head. I didn't understand. Agent Z half turned around and raised his eyebrows.

"We are not going into the Ghost Zone," he said, "That is against the rules, and it would contaminate us. We're setting up a monitoring system though. If the ghost who has Miss Manson comes out, we'll grab him and make him give her back."

Stunned, I looked at his back as he walked out of the door.

"You mean," I whispered, "You mean you're just going to leave her there? You're not even going to try and find her?" My voice grew louder. "You're just going to _sit_ here, waiting for him to come out? Are you that incompetent?! Are you that cowardly!?"

I staggered a little, but managed to catch myself before I fell down. "You... you..." Words failed me. I felt like blasting something, but that would be less than prudent. At least my hazed brain managed to control that much.

Shaking my head, suddenly feeling weary, I walked over to agent X, who looked at me in distaste.

"What do you want me to do?" I asked.

"Just follow me," he said, walking outside.

A little suspicious, I followed him. Outside, the long line of vans was parked along the curb, doors open, showing a multitude of GIW. I counted at least twenty of them, sitting in their vans, staring intently at screens, or standing outside on the sidewalk, glaring at the crowd that was slowly gathering around our house. Agent X led me all the way to the huge white truck at the end, rounded it and opened the doors, revealing a state of the art laboratory. He climbed in and I reluctantly followed him. I didn't close the door behind me.

"Sit," he said, gesturing at the shining stainless steel examination table in the middle of the truck. Fighting back the dizzy feeling in my head, I concentrated on walking to the table in a straight line. I hopped on and almost fell off on the other side.

"Whoa," I muttered.

Agent X turned around and stared at me. I looked back a little groggily. I really wanted to lay down somewhere and rest, but somehow the table didn't seem to be the best place for it. I shivered. Then I noticed the rather large syringe he was holding.

"Whoa, wait a minute," I said, jumping off the table and grabbing the edge to keep myself upright, "What is that? What are you going to do?"

"Anti-ecto contamination inoculation. You have been in the Ghost Zone, you are contaminated with ectplasmic radiation." He turned and tapped his finger against a meter. The needle shifted somewhat, but remained steady in the red zone. "Worse than your friend. We'll need to purge it out of your body."

I scrambled backwards around the table and stared at the syringe. It was holding a pinkish fluid, softly glowing. Anti-ecto... no way I was going to let him inject me with that. It might be fine for a human, but for me...

"I... I...I...," I stuttered.

Agent X advanced on me, rounding the table. I staggered backwards until my back hit the side of the truck.

"Don't make this difficult," he said.

I could clearly hear the menace in his voice. Everything started spinning around me. The only thing I could see was the syringe in his hand, coming closer and closer. Run, my brain screamed at me, run!

I turned, leaped out of the truck and started running.

* * *

I stared at the branches of the tree, admiring the way the sun flickered and glittered through the leaves. I was laying on my back in the grass on top of the hill, overlooking the railroad track and the outskirts of Amity Park. It was a nice spot, quiet and deserted. I could hear the sounds of the town, car horns, trucks, some hammering sound. Every now and then a train passed by, and every time it did I sat up and stared at the thing thundering by. Trains were fascinating. I wondered if I had liked trains when I was smaller, if I had ever wanted to become a driver. The way the thing kept moving, unstoppable, its wheels firmly on the tracks, crushing anything that got in its path...

I closed my eyes again and smiled a little, letting my mind drift aimlessly, carefully avoiding anything of the happenings of that afternoon. I thought about flying, searing through the sky, pushing myself harder and harder until I went so fast the world became a blur. I thought about fighting, about blasting ghosts, about the rush it gave me. I thought about not doing those things because of the number of GIW in town.

I just laid there, waiting. I had no idea what I was doing anymore. I couldn't go into the ghost zone, not with the GIW inside our house, watching for ghostly activity. I didn't even know if it was safe for me to return there, if I could sleep in my own bed. Going out tonight, taking the Specter Speeder to find Dora was completely out of the question, and for that I was mildly thankful. At least it would keep Jazz out of the ghost zone. We would have to wait for Tucker to finish his work, and then I had to figure out a way to get into the Ghost Zone... or at least, find a way to circumvent Vlad's security and go into the Zone through his portal. Because that was the only other way, except for some random portal opening somewhere (and I wouldn't know when and where that would happen, if at all), or trying to create one myself.

Another train approached, and I sat up again to watch it pass by. It was a long freight train, seemingly endless, and I looked idly at the passing wagons. It was so long I couldn't even see the whole thing at once, the head of it had already disappeared behind some buildings before the last part of it appeared from behind the hill.

Creating a portal myself would have to be a last resort. Because I really didn't feel like doing any more damage to my head than I already had.

I sat up straighter and dug into the pocket of my cargo pants that held the small bottle of vodka. I took it out and studied it. About two third of it was gone already, and I still had to get through the night. If I was going into the Ghost Zone tomorrow, in search of Sam, I would need to rest. The previous night had proved I wouldn't get it on my own.

With a sigh, I shoved it back into my pocket. I didn't feel as woozy as I had before, and my head had cleared a little. Not much, but enough to realize I was in trouble. Jazz was sure to have noticed something off about me, and my mother had been giving me these strange looks all the while agent Z had been questioning me.

Crossing my legs and leaning my elbows on my knees, I contemplated the situation. Any which way I turned it, I was screwed. But maybe I could postpone their undoubtedly overreaction until after I had found Sam, at which point all their objections to my choice of sedative would be moot. They'd find me a new psychiatrist, I'd agree to see him or her and be as meek as a sheep.

Of course I had conveniently forgotten about Vlad.


	37. Dubious deals

* * *

**LOST**

**Chapter 37: Dubious Deals**

* * *

It was getting dark by the time I finally landed in an alley close to Tucker's house. Weary beyond exhaustion, I transformed back human and staggered against the wall. Standing there for a moment, I tried to collect myself. I turned around, leaned my back against the wall and looked up at the darkening sky. Unbidden, my hand slipped down to the bottle in my pocket.

Careful not to drink too much this time, I let the liquid burn itself down my throat. Then I screwed the lid back on, put it back into my pocket and wiped the moisture – not tears, I wasn't crying – from my eyes. I pushed myself from the wall, took a moment to steady myself and then purposefully strode to the front door of Tucker's house.

As I rang the bell, I quickly popped another piece of strongly minted gum in my mouth. I was fairly sure I could fool Tucker. After all, I had just fooled Vlad for several hours.

I had no idea how a man who had acquired so much power by being devious, could miss something so obvious it had taken Mrs Crown and Jazz only moments to notice. I was almost constantly half-drunk. The alcohol gave me the confidence I needed and suppressed the terrifying flashbacks. I hadn't had one since that afternoon. The world seemed an easier place now, and my constant fear – still there, nagging – only a slight nuisance. It also helped quell the guilt.

The door opened and Mrs Foley smiled brightly at me. I smiled back, glad that there was at least one person who was genuinely happy to see me. She let me in and told me to go right up to Tucker's room. I, of course, didn't know which room was his, but I wasn't worried. I was sure I'd recognize it and I did. I grinned at the huge Fantastic Four poster pinned to his door and knocked, saying, "Hey, Tuck, how's our state of the art remote collar opener coming along!"

A thump, then a scraping sound as if a chair was pushed back, and the door opened. Tucker blinked at me, stepped back and allowed me to enter his messy room. I looked around, taking in the posters on the walls – various superhero movies -, the three computers crammed on his desk, the boxes with all sorts of wiry objects sticking out – half dissembled electronics – and finally my sister, sitting on Tucker's bed, fumbling with the camera attached to the Fenton Phones. Next to her, laying on the crumpled covers, the battered and now also slightly dusty thermos that contained the body of the ghost-knight.

"Jazz?" I asked, taken aback, "What are you doing here?"

She looked up at me, her face blank. "Helping Tucker. Like you should be doing too. What were you doing with Vlad?"

I raised my hands, refusing to take the bait. "I'm here now. What's the score?"

Tucker sat down in his desk chair again, but didn't return to his work, a half disassembled PDA attached to an oscilloscope. He looked up at me through his new glasses.

"Why are you still seeing Vlad?" he asked, "I don't get it, Danny. I thought your parents had custody again."

I shook my head. "Not until Monday. And it doesn't hurt to humor Vlad a little. We need his portal."

"You went and asked if you could use his portal?" Jazz asked incredulously, "What did he say?" She frowned. "What did he ask in return?"

Jazz really was too smart for her own good. I scowled at her, and wondered what she would say if I told her.

"Nothing," I said, "I can use his portal. He probably hopes I'll kill myself in the zone."

I purposefully turned away from her and approached Tucker. "Well?" I asked.

He looked at me curiously for a moment, and I could see his mind turn. What was he seeing? Why did he look at me that way? I blinked and tilted my head a little.

"What?" I asked.

He shook his head and finally turned away from me, mumbling something. The flash of anger came unexpected, hot and burning, and I gripped the back of his chair tightly. Something else alcohol did, besides numbing my feeling of anxiety, was that it loosened inhibitions. I almost punched him. Fortunately, he had his back to me, and I managed to gain control of myself before I could do serious damage, not only to Tucker's health, but also to our friendship.

Behind me, Jazz got up and joined me in staring over Tucker's shoulders.

"I' not sure," he said, "I can't get my laptop to communicate properly through the Fenton Phones. I don't know what's wrong. The connection just isn't there."

"Did you consider the fact that ectoplasm may increase the noise factor?" Jazz asked.

They started a discussion on ecto radiation which I stopped following after two words. I had absolutely no idea what they were talking about. Instead, I turned away from them and sat down on the bed, leaning my back against the wall and letting my feet dangle. Now that I was sitting down, relaxing a little, the weariness covered me like a blanket. I stared. My eyes glazed, but I kept them open.

Vlad had found me on the hill, where, according to him, I had been sitting for almost three hours. He had seized my by the neck and had lifted me up in the air, ignoring my squeaking protests and gasping for air.

"Transform," he had growled, "That way you won't have to breathe."

Not having any other option, I did as he said and transformed into Danny Phantom. He didn't let go of me, and somehow my brain had a hard time convincing my body that I really didn't have to breathe. Obviously, the reflex was stronger than death. Which meant that I was sort of choking all the way to his house, without blissfully passing out or dying from a crushed windpipe. Because that's what it felt like.

He only let go of me when we reached his lab, and I drifted to the ground, gasping for unneeded air, holding my sore throat. The air didn't do anything for me of course, so it took me a long time to settle down a little. Finally, I looked up and checked my environment. Vlad – as Plasmius – was sitting in the air, comfortably leaning back, regarding me as if he might regard an untrustworthy underling.

"You took off again," he said.

I opened my mouth and closed it again. I had nothing to say. Mostly because he was right.

"Your mother was frantic," he continued, "I called her just now to inform her you are with me. She said the GIW are looking for you. You've really made a mess of things, Daniel."

I knew that. I didn't need him to tell me that. "They were going to inject me with some anti ecto stuff," I said, "What was I supposed to do?"

Vlad frowned. "It wouldn't have killed you," he said, "It'd have been uncomfortable, yes, but the stuff is basically harmless. Next time, you let them inject you, to avoid suspicion."

Yes, of course, and by uncomfortable he probably meant painful. It wasn't like life was going to go easy on me every once in a while. I picked myself up and straightened a little, if only to have a better view on the lab and the swirling green of Vlad's ghost portal. I stared at it. Sam was there. I needed to rescue her, and now that my parent's portal had become inaccessible to me...

"I need to use your portal," I said.

"Oh, you do, do you?" Vlad asked, "To search of your girlfriend? No confidence in our good GIW, have you?"

I turned back to him. "They're gonna _sit_ there and _wait_ for her to come out all by herself," I growled, "They're useless and incompetent and cowardly. But they're sitting on the doorstep of my parents' portal, so I cannot use it. I need yours." My hands started to glow a bright green. "With or without your consent."

I should have known. I was an idiot for even trying. The last word had hardly left my mouth when Vlad blasted me with a huge pink ecto blast. It slammed me all the way across the lab and into a wall with all sorts of equipment, screens, dials and buttons. I crashed right into it and just hung there, between the smoking remains and sparkling wires. Vlad drifted closer, flicking an imaginary peck of dust off his cape.

"Of course you can use my portal, my dear boy," he said, "Be my guest. Mi casa es su casa and all that." He reached, grabbed me by the collar and pulled me out. "But you are going to do something for me first."

That had been over four hours ago. I was trying to stay awake, listen to Jazz and Tucker, but thoughts kept randomly popping up in my head, distracting me. The machine the GIW had brought into my house, the spotless mobile lab in the white truck, the glowing pink liquid in the syringe agent X was holding up... Vlad, making demands, ordering me about. The swirling of Vlad's portal, the lure, the way it resonated through my body. Sam's face, from the picture in my wallet, permanently engraved in my mind from staring at it for so long. And of course the things I didn't want to think about. My mind deftly skipped the small assignment Vlad had me do and fast-forwarded to the here and now.

Pushing myself up from the bed, I sluggishly made my way to Jazz and Tucker, now both bent over a completely disassembled Fenton ear phone. Tucker was holding a soldering iron, attaching some wires, Jazz was scribbling and sketching on a piece of paper, complex schemas that meant nothing to me. She looked up.

"I called mom," she said, "Told her you were with us, and that we're watching movies at Tucker's."

She pointed at the TV in the corner, playing, from the dark look of it, 'Constantine'. I remembered that movie, but I didn't remember watching it, or with who. I nodded.

"OK," I said, "What can I do?"

Jazz studied me. I tried not to squirm under her gaze and looked back steadily, but I didn't know if I succeeded. Some day she was going to be one hell of a psychiatrist. But I knew her too well, knew her weakness. I smiled at her.

"Come on Jazz," I said, trying to sound confident, "We'll make this work. We always did. Together."

She smiled back, hesitantly, and relaxed a little. I kept the smile on my face, stretched out and then yawned.

"Seriously though," I said, "I know I'm a complete moron in these sort of things, but can I help?"

Tucker shook his head, not looking up from this work. "Nah," he said, "Maybe later, when we need some ectoplasm. Why don't you try to get some sleep?"

That sounded like a plan to me, so I retreated to Tucker's bed and properly laid down on it. I stared at the TV for a while, not really taking in what was being said or done, trying to avoid the memory of overshadowing the business man who had thought he could outwit Vlad. He should have known better.

I had entered the hotel with Vlad, invisible, floating beside him. The man – tall, but not as tall as Vlad, heavy built, gray hair and wearing a immaculate business suit – had come up to Vlad and had jovially invited him into his room. Then he had shivered, and I knew it was because I was in the room, my ghost form dropping the temperature by several degrees. Fortunately, he was from out of town, because if he had lived in Amity Park, he would have known instantly what it meant.

I glided past Vlad and into the business man – Clark, his name was, Gregory Clark. He stiffened, I stiffened, and I gently took control, brushing his brain, suggesting, in the way Vlad had thought me, to him that he would really like to strike a deal with Vlad, without actually taking him over. His bulk felt strange to me, and I had to restrain myself from seizing control, from moving his arms. This sort of thing required concentration, the ability to move with the victim, the willingness to let him move you around as if you were the one being overshadowed.

Of course, concentration wasn't something I was famous for. My mind drifted away a few times, and I had to catch myself when I felt Clark frown in surprise at a random thought that came from me, but I couldn't help myself. They were talking business and numbers and return on investment which were simply too boring. For a while, I amused myself by shifting through his memories, until I decided that I didn't like him. He was a little too sure of himself, a little too self absorbed, a little too sleazy. I didn't feel as bad about my tiny little suggestions as I had before. It wasn't like he came out of it with nothing. Just a whole lot of money in exchange for his company.

Of course, he hadn't really wanted to sell.

After he finally signed all the papers, I slid out of his body and retreated through the window. I met up with Vlad outside the hotel, and he ordered me into his limousine to ride back with him to his mansion. I didn't really want to go with him, but I had given up on trying to fight him every other step. Because he'd end up getting what he wanted anyway.

"You could have done this yourself," I said accusingly when we were both sitting comfortably and the driver pulled away, "It's not like you need me for this."

Vlad looked both pleased and annoyed at me. "Of course I could have done this myself," he said haughtily, "But you need the experience. And try to pay a little bit more attention next time, Daniel. I can't have them twitch and jerk their arms and suddenly blurt out strange words because you lose control."

Next time. There would be a next time. I sank back deeper into my seat and looked morosely out of the window. The town was gliding by, busy traffic, buildings, people, but somehow I wasn't part of it. I felt like puppet on a string, forced to move whenever Vlad, or anyone else for that matter, made me.

The memory of the comfortable interior of the car, the tinted windows that allowed us to see outside, but prevented others from looking in, the image of a laughing puppet, me, strings attached, dancing and swirling all merged together and I finally managed to drift off into a mercifully dreamless sleep.

* * *

I awoke with a start. My arms jerked, and I almost let out an ecto blast in surprise. My eyes shot open, but I remained laying down on the bed. Slowly, the room came into focus. Light shone through the window, reflecting on the monitors on the desk. The TV was still on, but its moving images didn't really register in my hazed brain. I was on my back, still fully dressed.

That was when I became aware of the achy feeling in my head and the foul taste in my mouth. I groaned and pushed myself up, rubbing my eyes. Tucker's room. I was still in Tucker's room. And it was morning, judging from the light coming through the window. I glanced around and found the alarm clock beside his bed. Six thirty. I had slept the whole night, while Tucker and Jazz were working...

The slight weight on my right leg made me look down. Jazz was sitting on the floor, leaning her head on the edge of the bed, her hand on my ankle. It looked awkward and uncomfortable, but she seemed to be sleeping nonetheless. Then I looked up at Tucker, still sitting in his chair, his head on his desk. Completely out of it.

Slowly, I moved my legs, freeing them from Jazz's grip, and swung them out of the bed. I leaned my elbows on my knees and I sat there for a moment, trying to think what to do, looking at my hands. They were shaking.

It wasn't much, just a small tremor, but it was there. My breathing quickened. I could feel the anxiety rise again, and I realized that if I wanted to be able to go out into the ghost zone today, I'd need to fix myself up. Quickly, I scrambled around a little until I found the pocket with the bottle and took it out, keeping a suspicious eye on Jazz and Tucker. My hand was already moving to unscrew the lid when I realized it was empty.

A wave of panic washed over me and I gasped. I almost dropped the bottle, but fortunately managed to hold on to it. The noise would have woken Jazz and Tucker, and then I'd have to explain the empty vodka bottle to them. I somehow didn't think they'd see things my way.

How come it was empty? Then I remembered, vaguely, getting up in the middle of the night, grumbling something at a still working Jazz and Tucker about going to the bathroom, then actually going to the bathroom and downing the last remnants in the bottle, before stumbling back to bed again.

I drank it all. And now I had nothing left. Which meant I needed to get some more.

I shoved the bottle back into my pocket, resolving to get rid of it somewhere else, and tiptoed to Tucker at his desk, mentally checking the contents of my wallet. I probably had enough for at least one more bottle, and that would have to do. I retrieved a piece of paper and a pen, quickly scribbled a note about getting some air and being back in a little while, and then simultaneously transformed, turned myself invisible and intangible and drifted out of the house.


	38. Secrets Kept, Secrets Revealed

* * *

**LOST**

**Chapter 38: Secrets Kept, Secrets Revealed**

* * *

"Danny? What the hell?"

I jerked, swallowed a large gulp and started coughing as about half of the liquid went the wrong way. My eyes started watering as a burning sensation spread through my windpipe and nose. Through my coughs and spluttering, I managed to get to my feet and, leaning against the back of the bench I had been sitting on, glare at the person who had startled me.

"Tucker!" I managed to get out between coughs, "Don't sneak up on me like that."

My best friend didn't look impressed by my glare, the same glare I used on people to scare them off. Instead, he stepped closer and took the bottle out of my hand. I let him. No point in hiding it anymore.

"What's this?" he said, "Vodka?"

I shrugged. "That's what it says."

"You're drinking vodka?"

"Apparently."

I tried to stare him down, challenging him, daring him to say it. He looked at the almost full bottle in his hand and then back at me again.

"Where did you get this?"

"I took it from Vlad's house last night," I lied, "To get back at the fruit loop. Thought I'd try it, see what it tastes like, what the guy so excited about that he has this imported directly from Russia."

I kept my eyes on his face, making sure they never strayed to the bottle he was holding. Tucker blinked uncertainly at me.

"You shouldn't do this," he said finally, "It's not healthy, not to mention illegal. I'm..." He looked down at the ground for a moment, as if to gather courage. "I'm going to throw this out, OK?"

I shrugged. "Sure. Tastes bad anyway. Especially through the nose."

That wasn't entirely true. You got used to the taste after a while. I watched impassively as Tucker held the bottle upside down and let the clear liquid disappear in the grass, his eyes never leaving me. I didn't even flinch when he shook it to clear out the last drops. Only when it was completely empty, he spoke again.

"You should talk to Jazz about this."

Bad idea. Suddenly, I was worried. If Tucker told Jazz then she'd tell my parents and Vlad would probably hear about it too. In which case I was doomed. I couldn't let that happen. I shook my head.

"Come on, Tuck, you're my friend. It was just one sip. No need to worry Jazz about this?"

I blinked at him, trying to give him a sincere, puppy dog look. He hesitated. I threw my hands in the air.

"Tucker!" I said, "Don't be an ass. Jazz is worried enough as it is. I'm going to get Sam out today, and then I'll talk to her, OK? And they're gonna find me a new shrink tomorrow morning, first thing. I'll talk to him or her too, alright?"

He sighed, looked at the bottle once more and seemed to relax a little.

"You've never done this before?"

I looked offended. "Of course not!"

He shifted. His eyes wandered, taking in the bench, the trees, the slightly overgrown, because rarely used, path, and then back at me again.

"And you won't do it again."

I rolled my eyes. "Duh," I said.

His shoulders slumped, and only now I saw how tense he had been. He approached me and shoved the bottle in my backpack. Then he grinned at me.

"You had me worried there for a moment," he said lightly, "Let's throw that thing out at the first available trashcan, alright? Better not get caught with it."

I nodded in agreement, and we set off, leaving my secluded spot in the park. My walk was steady now, my hands were no longer shaking. Actually, I felt pretty good. Especially since in my rather large pocket there was another bottle.

"How did you find me?" I asked, to break the silence.

Tucker laughed a little. "You always used to go here after a bad fight. It's the first place I checked."

Right. Danny Fenton surfacing again. I felt a slight resentment towards my former self. He kept intruding on my life, kept making himself known. I didn't need that, because I didn't know what behavior came form him and what was me. Every time somebody saw some part of Danny in me, I felt offended. As if I wasn't my own person, as if I was only the shadow of the person they'd known. They were all waiting for him to get back. Well, big surprise, he wasn't. Frostbite had told me so.

Brooding, I descended down the hill together with an uncertain looking Tucker. At the first available trashcan, I dumped the empty bottle with only a slight pang of regret, and then glanced up at the clock on one of the high rises in the distance. I could just make out that it was now seven thirty. I had been gone longer than I thought.

"You're up early," I said to Tucker as we walked towards the entrance of the park.

"So were you," he said, "We finished the Fenton Phone Direct Communicator De Luxe tonight around four and then we sort of drifted off, I guess." He glanced at me sideways. "Jazz is... worried."

I raised my eyebrows. "Why? We've got a plan now, a real plan. You both agreed to it. We go to Vlad's, I hop into the zone, find Sam and hop back out again after kicking Aragon's ass." Obliterate him, hold him by the throat and choke him while pouring so much energy into him he'd explode.

Tucker shook his head. "Not about the plan... well, that too, but last night she kept going on how you acted strangely, how you seemed... and now I find you here in the park, drinking..."

Crud. Hadn't fooled him after all. I should have known. I stopped, grabbed Tucker's arms and looked him straight in the eyes.

"Tucker, I'll admit that I made a... mistake. I just needed to relax a little, I'm fine now. Really. There's nothing to worry about, I've got it under control."

"Jazz says you have PTSD."

"Jazz is an amateur psychologist who over-analyzes things. I'm fine. Things are a little rough right now, because I'm worried about Sam, OK? That's all. I'm worried. We all are. So let's not overreact."

I let go of him and started walking again. After a moment's hesitation, Tucker followed, rushing to catch up, and when he did, he had to sort of jog to keep up.

"Danny, slow down," he said, "I didn't mean to upset you. Come on, man, it's me. Tucker. Your best friend..."

I didn't have any friends. I didn't know him. I'd only just met him. I stopped and glared at him.

"You keep telling me that," I said angrily. Somewhere in the back of my head warning bells were going off. "You all know so much about me. Well, guess what. You. Don't. Know. Me!"

I was shouting by the time I finished the sentence. Tucker paled under his dark skin and took a step back. He stared at me, and I stared back. My anger slowly subsided.

"I'm sorry, Tucker," I said, looking down at the ground, "I didn't mean it."

He remained silent. I looked up again. He was shaking his head, a sad look in his eyes.

"You're right," he said, "I don't. You've... changed. You're like a different person." He swallowed. "I didn't realize... how hard it must have been for you. Everybody thinking they know you, but they don't know you at all... including me." He tried to smile. "I'm still your friend, Danny."

Suddenly, I wanted to cry. I turned away from Tucker and started walking again, more slowly this time. We walked to Tucker's house in silence.

* * *

Jazz was not pleased. She was sitting behind Tucker's computer, a plate containing a sandwich on her lap. She gave me that look of concerned disapproval again that I had become accustomed to, and opened her mouth to no doubt start one of her lectures. But I knew exactly how to appease her so that she would stop the worry-trip she was on.

"Hi Jazz," I said, flopping down on Tucker's bed while taking a sandwich from the plate standing on Tucker's nightstand, "You're all ready? Are we set to go?"

I wasn't hungry, but took a bite from the sandwich anyway and smiled at the both of them, hoping that my Danny imitation was good enough to fool them. Tucker raised his eyebrows in surprise, and Jazz shut her mouth. Determined not to let Tucker talk to Jazz about what he had just witnessed, I pressed on.

"Let's eat, I'm famished, and then I'll go to see Vlad about his portal... Can I see the new supertastic Fenton Phones De Luxe thingy you guys built? I can't believe you pulled that off. Jazz, it's best that you stay here with Tucker, there's no need to come with me to Vlad's, you'll only annoy each other..."

"Mom called," Jazz said, "She's on her way here."

I shut my mouth with a click. The whole emotional structure I had built up in my head started to sway. I didn't need this... because I wouldn't be able to handle it. Jazz, I could play, Tucker still thought I was Danny, but my mother... she'd had that look in her eyes the day before, when the GIW were questioning me, like she knew something. I knew she no longer saw me as Danny, but as something else.

"No," I said.

I got up, walked to the window and nervously looked outside. The street was empty.

"You're breaking down," Jazz said, "You can't handle it."

I could handle it fine as long as they left me alone. Subconsciously, I started feeling around, reaching for my ghost form that would allow me an easy escape. I turned around, to find Jazz standing next to Tucker's desk, holding the modified PDA and the Fenton Phones.

"Give me that," I said.

"No," she said, "You wait for mom. You can't do this to her."

"I can take it from you easily," I said.

A flash of anger crossed her face. "Yes," she said, "You could. But we have to explain the thing to you. It wouldn't be any use."

A loud rumble, screeching tires outside alerted me to the fact that my father was driving the Fenton GAV. Great. Both my parents. I rushed to the window to look outside, hoping that by some miracle there were two irresponsible RV drivers in town and that I was just mistaken, but my father was already climbing out of the car. I turned back to Jazz.

"Jazz," I said, not liking the desperate undertone to my voice one bit, "Please. I have to find Sam. I can't..."

"Yes. No," she said, "_We_ have to find Sam. Quit trying to do everything yourself, Danny. Let us help you help Sam."

Voices downstairs, friendly chatter. I turned away from my friends, yanked the door open and thundered down the stairs without waiting for them to catch up. Down in the living room my parents and the Foleys were standing, Mr and Mrs Foley obviously confused, my father looking eager and my mother... She turned around when she heard me come down the stairs and simply stared at me. I tried to look back defiantly, but failed miserably.

"Danny," she said, "Agent Z is very put out with you."

"Are they looking for me?" I asked, my hand still on the banister, one foot on the floor and one foot still on the bottom step.

She shook her head. "Not yet. But you have to take that shot."

I shook my head. No matter what Vlad said, I wasn't going to let them stick a needle in me.

"No way," I said.

Somehow, the others in the room seemed to have disappeared. They were still there, looking at us, but for all we cared, they could be statues. I could feel Jazz's presence right behind me on the stairs, but she kept quiet. I shifted my feet and stepped down the last step, straightening.

"You ran away again," my mother said.

She looked hurt, lost.

"I had to," I said, "That guy was gonna stick that huge needle in me with some pink _glowing_ stuff in it. That's sick. Like I don't already get enough glowing stuff to eat back home. They are not going to inject me with that."

"It won't hurt..."

"Yes it will. And I don't have time to deal with it."

"Because you're going after Sam in the ghost zone."

She was stating a fact, not asking a question. I saw the certainty on her face. And something else. Determination. She remained silent after that statement, and it took me a moment to process what she was implying.

"You're not going to stop me?"

Slowly, she shook her head. "I can't," she said sadly, "There really is no way for me to control you, is there... you're seventeen, Danny. I can't lock you in your room anymore, as much as I want to."

She stepped closer, invading my personal space which was actually quite wide. I didn't step away though, as I would have if had she been anybody else. For a moment, I wanted her to hug me, hold me close and tell me everything was going to be alright, that mommy would take care of the bad bad ghosts hiding under the bed, that daddy was a fearless ghost hunter that captured all the ghosts and oh, did I know Mr Fluffy, the stuffed animal bunny I slept with actually warded off ghosts?

I took a step back, hitting my back against the wall. "Don't," I said.

The room darkened. The rough cold wall chafed my back as I slid down to the floor, crumbling into myself, shaking with fear from the looming white figure in front of me. My breathing quickened as I realized I wasn't a ghost right then, that I was just a puny human, a despicable, filthy human, completely against the rules... rules... _Come on, boy, say the rules, rule number one, you know it, say it..._

A soft voice, slightly hoarse, a stream of words, muttered so quickly it was almost impossible to understand what was being said, cold, cold hands on my shoulders, shaking me. Shouts, coming from far away. I looked up. My vision was hazy. Walker, grinning at me. He was going to shoot Jazz, kill Jazz. I couldn't let that happen. Hatred sprung up in me, energy built, hands started glowing. I wanted his face to crack, wanted his eyes to lose their green color, turning a blinding white instead from the built up energy inside, wanted him to be blon apart, obliterated.

A scream of pain. I shot up.

"Mom!" I yelled.

Everything slammed back into place. The colorful room. The people's shocked faces, looking down on me. My mother, held up by my father, her hair all frizzled, looking... shocked. I looked down at my hands, still glowing, and with some effort retracted the energy. Then I pushed myself up until I was standing completely upright again. The room was deathly silent.

"I...," I said, "I'm sorry." I looked at Jazz, standing next to me, her hand raised as if wanting to touch me but not quite daring to, "I didn't mean..."

My eyes caught sight of the Fenton Phones Tucker and she had worked so hard on the previous night. Her other hand held my backpackl. It hung open, and I could see wires sticking out, part of Tucker's modified PDA and a battered Fenton thermos. Slowly, I took it all from her and she let me. My face twitched, and I forced myself to look back at my parents again. From the corner of my eyes, I caught sight of Mrs Foley, her hand over her mouth, looking at me with something that could be described as pity.

I didn't need pity. I stepped forward, took a deep breath and said, "Mom, dad, I'm really sorry I never told you this, but I'm Danny Phantom."

With that, I reached inside of me, let the cold, ghostly feeling engulf me and transformed into Danny Phantom right in front of their eyes. Then I put on the Fenton Phones, adjusting it until it felt comfortable while hovering in front of them.

"I really am sorry," I said, and then I took off.

* * *

_OK, _so_ did not expect _this_ to happen..._

_Anyway, here we go. Next part is about finding Sam, and I need it to be finished completely before I post anything. And seeing as I'm stuck right now, or not stuck, but trying to make a decision on how to proceed (basically, who's gonna capture him :), it might be a while._


	39. The Castle I

* * *

**LOST**

**Chapter 39: The Castle 1**

* * *

Green, all around me. Currents, eddies, a sudden unexplained thickening of ectoplasm. Gravity, non-existing. Up was down was up, and I for all I knew I could be flying, drifting, upside down. Purple doors passed me by, islands, huge, meteor like rocks made of a strange black material, seemingly totally lifeless... which was a strange place of putting it, since the ghost zone was by definition lifeless to begin with.

For the first time, I started to grasp the meaning of being dead. The whole zone, the chill, the feel of it, was death. It clung to me, seeped through my jump suit, permeated my skin, pressing against my unusual physiology, literally sucking the life out of me.

I was dead. I had no heartbeat, didn't need to breathe, could move around and feel the currents of the Ghost Zone, be one with it. The incredible amount of ectoplasm here made me feel insignificant, useless, yet strangely at home. I was part of something here, something endless, and I felt comforted by that thought. It also terrified me.

Because at the same time, I felt the zone pulling at my living, breathing human form, hidden somewhere deep inside of me. It was a stinging feeling, as if the ghost zone was rejecting the part of me that was alive. I had been a little preoccupied the last time in the ghost zone to pay much attention to it, but now that I was here, all alone in the quiet of the zone, it was all too clear. I didn't belong here.

The crackling in my ears brought me back to reality. Wincing a little at the loudness of the noise, I quickly brought my hand up to the headset and tried to find a switch to turn it down a little. When I couldn't find it immediately, I simply yanked the whole Fenton Phone/Camera contraption from my head and examined it. It had a small button for turning the thing on or off – currently set in the on position – and some dial which was probably regulating the volume. I turned it a little and then put it back on my head.

"...Danny? Can you hear me?"

My mother's voice. Worried, but steady.

"Yeah, mom," I said.

"Can you try and twist the lens of the camera a little? All we're getting now is some sort of green haze..."

"That's the ghost zone, mom," I said, "Everything is green and hazy here."

"But it's out of focus."

Her voice was patient, flat, as if she was trying not to show emotion. I wondered what she thought of me now, a ghost. The thing she had hunted for so long. Dangerous, evil Danny Phantom, causing destruction, robbing banks, threatening the mayor. Me. I brought my hand to my head, grabbed the lens of the camera and twisted it a little.

"That's better," my mother's voice cracked into my ear.

Then she went silent again. I didn't blame her. What do you say to the ghost of your son? I sighed, letting useless air into my lungs, and continued on my way, passing purple door after purple door. Vlad had given me no trouble, other than slapping a strange bracelet on my left wrist and threatening to hand me over to the GIW personally if I took it off. I had listened to his words, had even acknowledged hearing them by nodding, but somehow they had slid right off me. Vlad was just another annoyance, another nail to my coffin, and I couldn't really distinguish him from the GIW, Sam, Walker, my parents finding out what I was... I just had to push all these things aside for now, and concentrate on one thing and one thing only: finding Sam.

Odd how a little single mindedness cleared my head.

"Danny..."

If only they'd leave me alone for a bit.

"Yes, Jazz," I said, thinking that the ghostly echo in my voice nicely disguised the flat, emotionless tone of it.

"... I talked to mom and dad... actually, I talked to mom. Dad seems to think it's the coolest thing in the world, a half ghost."

Except for the part that said half ghost was his son, of course, which he seemingly conveniently forgot. I could picture him, brow furrowed, eyes lit with excitement as he considered the idea, the very concept of burning so much ectoplasm into a human body he became something different, something unique, something... definitely not human.

"Mom thinks... we tried to convince her. She doesn't think that a ghost can be... not evil. She doesn't see... she loves you, Danny."

She thought Danny had died and I had taken his place... which was true, in a way. I swallowed and remained quiet. In the distance, I could see a white, icy rock. I looked at it, knowing the camera sent its images directly to Tucker's computer. The land of the Far Frozen. Peaceful. Cold. A haven.

I turned away and moved on. No point in lingering here.

"Jazz, I'm gonna turn this thing off for a bit, save batteries," I said.

Silence for a moment, then, "I hate to say this, but you're right." Tucker's voice now. Were they all gathered together in Tucker's room? "We don't want to lose contact with you, Danny, but we can't have the thing fail on us when you're trying to free Sam."

A rustle, some whispered words I couldn't quite hear, then my mother's voice. "Danny, let us know when you get there, please."

I tried not to let her cool tone of voice get to me, but it still stung. It had taken me weeks to accept her as my mother. And now that I had, she rejected me...?

"OK, mom," I said, bringing my hand to the switch.

"Wait."

I hesitated. Static on the other end of the line. My hand moved closer to the switch.

"Danny, I'm sorry." My mother again, but now her voice sounded hoarse. "I... we'll talk when you get back, OK? Please get back... I don't want to lose you again."

I flipped the switch. The phones went dead. I was alone in the zone now, all connection to the real world lost until I chose to reconnect again. Reconnect to my family, my friends, life... and I wondered if there was anything left to reconnect to. Then nervous jitter was still there, the anxiety coursing through my body, now no longer dulled by alcohol as my ghost form seemed to negate most of the effect. I really needed to stay focused, not dwell on stupid little fears like my parents hating me.

I looked down at the bracelet, at the small blinking red light on it. Another connection to the real world. A flash of anger went through me, anger at the leash I was on, anger at Vlad's uncaring control over me. I had tried to fit into the real world so hard, and all he was doing was pulling me back out of it, setting me apart, forcing me to be different.

I wedged my finger between the bracelet and my wrist and pulled at it. It came off with some difficulty. The red light started blinking furiously. Annoyed, I threw the thing up in the air and let out an ectoblast big enough to melt Vlad's entire lab. It disappeared with a bright flash. Satisfied for now, I looked around at the endless realms of the ghost zone, and focused my attention on the upcoming chaos ahead.

Dark streaks, green, purple, first shapeless, surrounding me. For some reason, I knew where I was, knew I just had to keep going. I sensed the currents, felt where they were taking me. I pressed on, and the swirling around me started to take shape, dark, leafless trees, purple pools, dripping, gurgling. Almost no dry land. The place looked like a swamp. A big, dead swamp. I landed, carefully placing my feet on a semi-dry spot. They sank into the ground a little, and when I took a tentative step forward, made a sucking sound.

The kingdom of Armagondia. I had arrived.

Two more steps brought me knee deep in the water, and starting to sink. Something brushed against my legs, something cold and slimy, and I shivered. I tore myself loose from the muddy bottom of the swamp and started hovering right above the water.

Fog prevented me from seeing very far ahead. I flew in the direction I suspected the castle was, but I couldn't be sure. Still, the only other option would be to go back out of this realm, and that would accomplish exactly nothing. So I kept going, weaving through the trees, which became more and more frequent now that the land seemed to be rising. The place was still damp, but now at least there was a considerable stretch of dry land. There was moss growing on the trees, long strands hanging down as some dreary garlands. The ground rose even higher, and at long last, I crested a hill.

I stopped. The forest ended here. In front of me, a muddy field, a perpetual mist hanging over it, crawling over the muddy ground never rising more than a few feet up in the air. A trench with a drawbridge, currently raised. A huge, black, imposing castle.

And the most disturbing of all, something straight out of a nightmare, something my demented brain had thought up when examining the decapitated body of the knight. I looked at it, feeling slightly ill, not so much because the owner of the castle had found it necessary to display dozens of decapitated heads on poles on the walls, but also because this was what I had imagined it would look like.

Was this something a ghost would think up? Or did I really have problems that went far beyond a little incapability to deal with stress?

After staring at it for a while, morbidly trying to figure out which of the heads would fit on the body of the knight I was carrying in my backpack, I turned around and flipped the switch on the Fenton Phones.

"Hello?" I said, "Anybody listening?"

The answer was immediate. "Danny! Are you alright?"

"Yeah, mom," I said, "Everything's peachy. I'm at the castle."

"Where? We don't see it?"

"I'm looking the other way," I said, "Believe me, you don't want to see this." I looked around a little, giving them a view of the dreary forest. "I'm going to try and find a way in," I said, "I'll get back to you, OK?"

Before she could say anything else and rock the once again stable mindset in my head I quickly turned off the headset and then proceeded to tear it from my head. Best to keep it safely tucked away in my backpack for now. If it got damaged, there would be no way to connect Tucker's modified PDA to it and this whole operation would be pointless.

I looked at the castle again. High walls, guards on the battlements, drawn up drawbridge, a gate that looked extremely sturdy and well protected. She was in there, I could feel it. I was so close. Yet so far away. My eyes involuntarily slid back to the severed heads on the poles near the entrance. They could be reconnected, Cuminder had said. They weren't really dead. My mouth twitched. They just looked gruesome. A deterrent. And it was working, too. No way I was going to try and find out what would happen if my head got severed from my torso.

As I stood there, quietly observing the castle, trying to figure out how to get in and trying to control the achy longing for some sort of sedative, I completely neglected to watch my back. The cold steel against my neck shouldn't have surprised me so much, after all, if I were Aragon, I'd be patrolling the area too, but it did. Mostly, because it felt cold in an environment where everything was cold to begin with. I shivered, but didn't move.

The cold blade moved a little, and its sharp edge cut into my neck. I could feel ectoplasm drip down in my collar. Still, my assailant said nothing, which unnerved me. He or she forced me to stand absolutely still, and once presented with this inability to move, I felt an almost overwhelming urge to twitch. I cleared my throat.

"Um," I rasped, "I surrender?"

Please, I thought, please don't cut my head off... I really _really_ didn't want to end up on one of those poles, my unseeing eyes staring forever ahead to ward off others. The pressure on my neck decreased somewhat, and if I ever needed a sigh of relief it was now. Instead, I slowly turned around.

The blade – softly glowing a pale blue – was still only inches away from my face. I stared at it cross eyed, and then let my eyes travel up the blade to take in the ghost holding it.

Red eyes, glowing menacingly, a dented, black helmet, equally dented, black armor. Blue face, disfigured by a scar running from his left eye over his nose down his right cheek. About a foot taller than me, and about twice as wide, though that could have been caused by the bulk of his armor. Not somebody I would want to meet in battle.

"Hi," I said, "I'm Danny Phantom."

The ghost stared at me for a little while longer, and then slowly lowered his sword. He nodded.

"Yes," he said, "I thought you might be him."

The tip of his sword now almost touched the ground. He looked at the castle briefly, and then back at me.

"Are you here to help us?" he asked.

"Help you?" I stared at him, trying to get my mind back working again. "With what?"

The ghost pressed his lips together, moved his sword up again – which made me very nervous – and sheathed it. I relaxed, letting out the breath I had been holding for so long I'd have died if I hadn't already been dead.

"With our battle," the ghost said, "To defeat the usurper. To overthrow the illegal government. To banish prince Aragon once more. To reinstate princes Dorothea to her rightful place, the throne. To..."

"Yeah, yeah," I said, "I got you the first time. Look, my sympathies and all, but I'm only here to get my friend out."

The ghost frowned, looked pointedly at the castle and then at me again.

"Lady Samantha Manson," he nodded, "Yes. Please follow me."

He turned and without looking back, disappeared between the trees of the dreary forest. I stared after him, torn between the desire to stay here and watch the castle, trying to figure out a way in, or follow the nameless ghost and see if I could find out more of what was going on. I knew what I had to do, what logic told me to do, but I couldn't shake the feeling that I would be leaving Sam behind somehow if I left. She was in there, I knew it, I felt it, but I couldn't help her by trying to stare down the walls.

Tiredly, I turned my back to the castle and drifted off into the direction the ghost had gone.

* * *

The encampment was huge. Multi-colored tents everywhere, flags and banners, horses, people, ghosts moving around, carrying peaks and swords and whatnot. The knight that had 'captured' me – Sir Donald, he had told me his name was – strode easily through the chaos, and I had to jog to keep up. For some reason, he refused to just fly, and I thought it would seem impolite to hover after him when he so obviously valued his walking. My feet splashed in the muddy ground as we made our way towards the red and white striped, slightly larger tent standing in the middle.

Sir Donald stepped up to the red and white tent, opened the flap and turned around, inviting me in. I stopped, looked back at where we came from and could just make out the high towers of the castle above the trees. Then I resolutely turned around and entered the tent.

It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness inside, but when they finally did, I saw a number of ghosts clad in black armor gathered around a table. They all looked up when I entered, and then stepped back, allowing me to see who was standing at the other end of the table.

Long blond hair, braided. Green face, blue dress. No necklace.

I recognized her immediately from the pictures in my ghost database. Dora, or Dorothea. The _other_ dragon. The princes who had kicked her brother out of the kingdom a few years back and had abolished his retarded rule that nothing was allowed to change. Obviously, she wasn't very in charge of the realm now.

I stared at her. The others in the room, ghosts, tall and imposing, simply stood there, waiting. Dora looked back at me, fumbling with her hands. Finally, when I didn't say anything, one of her hands went up to her neck, only to be pulled down again instantly as if she had burned herself. She placed her hands on the table in front of her and leaned forward a little.

"Danny Phantom," she said, "We are honored to have you here."

I blinked. They were _honored_? I tried to process what was going on and looked around. The tent, which had seemed large on the outside, seemed cramped with all the ghosts inside taking up space. In the far end, I could see a bed and a small cabinet next to it. A bench was standing against the 'wall', a standing mirror, and of course the table. I looked down at it. A map was laying on it, and even with my limited map-reading skills, I could easily make out the castle, the woods, the bog and our current location, marked with a large red X.

Of course, taking all this in didn't help me much, and I didn't know what to say, so I said, "Huh?"

Dora tried to smile warmly at me, a little hard to do because she was a ghost, but I appreciated the effort. Sort of. The others, generals, I presumed, just scowled at me. All in all, not an entirely friendly place.

"You have come to help us, yes?" Dora said, "Lady Samantha said you would come, that you'd help us, so we have been waiting."

I shook my head, trying to make sense of what she was saying. "Waiting?" I asked, "You were waiting for me... wait. Sam? You talked to Sam?"

Dora nodded. The other ghosts didn't move, except for one whom I thought shook his head briefly. Obviously, they hadn't agreed to the wait.

"Yes," she said, "Lady Samantha and I have a communication set up. She is stalling, keeping my brother occupied, while I organized this army." She glanced at the ghosts standing next to her, and I could have sworn I saw a glimpse of resentment towards them for a moment, but then it was gone. I didn't care though. My mind latched on to one thing and one thing only.

"Sam's alright?" I asked.

Dora raised her eyebrows and smiled more genuinely this time. "Of course," she said, "It takes more than my deluded and hopelessly outdated brother to bring her down. As soon as we heard you were alive..."

"You heard?" I interrupted her, "How?"

"That fool Cuminder...," Suddenly, she choked on her words. She looked down at the table, obviously taking a moment to compose herself. Then she looked up again, face unreadable. "Cuminder announced that he had met you. We started planning immediately after that." She eyed me critically. "You took your time though."

Sam was alright. She was alright, and she knew I was alive – or at least as alive as I had been – and was counting on me to rescue her. An immense feeling of relief washed over me, and if keeping myself upright hadn't been so easy – it was more a conscious effort to keep my feet on the ground – I'm sure I would have sunk to the ground. As it was, I started hovering, until I became aware of the glares of the ghost generals, obviously insisting in doing everything the 'right' way, including keeping your feet firmly planted in the slightly muddy ground.

Now that I thought about it, everything in the encampment had oddly seemed something out of some medieval costume movie. The tents, the fires – completely unnecessary, as ghosts neither eat nor feel any kind of cold -, the way these generals were all gathered around the table with the map... it was all a cliché. A caricature of reality. Obsessively so. After all, they were ghosts.

They would never win.

Realization struck hard. The elation I had felt only moments ago, the absolute certainty that I would see Sam again soon, that it was all over dropped so quickly that I could almost feel it drain out of my body. It wasn't over yet. Sam was still in there, in that creepy castle with the decapitated heads, and she was still wearing the collar. Aragon could hurt her, torture her whenever he felt like it. And this... _army_... was going to attack the castle, overthrow Aragon's rule and free Sam?

My eyes locked onto Dora, most specifically the empty spot on her chest where the necklace should be. She followed my gaze, looked down and then up again.

"Yes," she said, "He took it. I have no power."

Great, just great. I stepped forward and looked down at the map. It was a simple place. The castle was in the middle, surrounded by fields. Around the fields, hills, trees, and the swamp I had traversed to get here. The encampment was in a clearing in the forest, seemingly only a couple of miles away from the castle, but distances can be deceiving in the ghost zone, so that meant absolutely nothing. Unless of course they insisted on marching over there.

I looked at the generals, who had remained oddly quiet. Yes, they most definitely would insist on marching. Marching was something soldiers did.

"We have a plan," Dora said, "And it involves you."


	40. To Kill a Ghost

A/N: Seems Dora has green skin, not blue... thank you DPCrazy (I fixed it :). Next chapter is extremely long (twice the length of this one), so I hope I can get it up before I leave on the 21st (seems like a long way off but you know how time flies...). The great thing about it is that it'll leave you with a cliffie for over three weeks, so naturally I'm quite motivated to finish it.

On another note, I reedited chapter one. It flows better now.

* * *

**LOST**

**Chapter 40: To Kill a Ghost**

* * *

Can you kill a ghost? I would have to say, no. Ghosts are dead. You can't kill someone, or something, depending who you're talking to, that's already dead. Can you destroy a ghost?

Here's where it gets tricky. Ghosts aren't 'beings', they aren't 'people'. They are, as my father likes to put it, 'ectoplasmic entities of post-human consciousness'. Meaning, they could be anything. As long as it's a strong emotion. Now, dying, that definitely gives off a strong emotion. So that's why most ghosts are remnants, and pay close attention to the word 'remnants' here, of people. They're not the person itself. They have traits of that person, certainly, and family members would recognize the ghost... and be appalled. Because the ghost is a caricature of the person. That's why my parents are convinced that ghosts do not have emotions. They're the emotions itself, and can only display that one emotion. Obsessive hunting. Obsessive box collecting. Obsessive time management (Clockwork's gonna hate me for this one).

Back to the subject at hand. Can you destroy a ghost? The question should be, can you destroy somebody's consciousness. Yes you can. How many people are in a coma for years, all but a body with no soul. No consciousness. It's the same with ghosts. Because they are conscious. If you destroy a ghost... nothing remains. The ectoplasm scatters. It's not dead. It's just gone. I demonstrated that aptly by destroying Walker.

So, as I was standing there, at the edge of the forest, overlooking the plain and the castle in the distance, dark, forbidding, the green sky swirling and twisting like a scene from a horror movie, I was left wondering if I would die there, and if so, if my ghost would be destroyed as well. Or, if I was destroyed as a ghost, would my human body survive? I didn't think so. One cannot live – hah, live – without the other. We're not two beings. We're two sides of the same being. A half ghost. An anomaly. A freak.

I pushed all those thoughts out of my mind. My stomach was churning, I felt sick, even in my so called 'ghost mode'. Dora beside me looked equally distraught. Fear seems to be the one emotion all ghosts share. Figures.

I lowered my head to stare at my feet, half sunk into the muddy ground. My now no longer white boots were partially covered with a pair of ill fitting greaves, chafing uncomfortably against my knees. My upper legs were left bare – they couldn't find any leg harness to fit –, but for the rest of it I was well covered with surprisingly heavy armor. Including a helmet, visor down to cover my face. It had taken most of the morning to get it all on, and my protesting hadn't helped.

"Just give me a hood or something," I had argued, "A cape. Anything but this. I'll be out of sight, nobody will recognize me that way and I can at least move around for a bit."

They had dismissed it, arguing that I would stand out too much that way, that Aragon and his generals would wonder who I was and be more careful in their moves, suspecting a trap. I had to blend in with the army, I had to look like an ordinary knight – no, not a soldier, of which there were plenty also, too dangerous as they didn't wear as much armor – and had to stay close to Dora, who would be well protected. That way, they could unobtrusively protect me too.

They had even showed me how to form one of those ecto swords, which had turned out to be surprisingly easy. Or at least, I thought it was until I saw the stunned faces of the knight who showed me how to do it, patiently explaining about it while I was already doing it. It seemed this was something only strong ghosts could do, and even then had to practice. Dora, watching from the side, had smiled haughtily at the knights, a knowing look on her face, and had led me away, leaving the knights to their own devices.

"They needed to see this," she said, "They need to have confidence in you. This will work. You're by far the strongest ghost here."

"But I can't use a sword!" I had hissed, "I have absolutely no clue!"

Of course, that remark had led to lessons from Sir Donald, supervised again by Dora. In the end, I managed to at least parry a direct blow with some ease.

"Look," he then said, "Let's call it a day. You're tired, I can't really teach you how to use this thing in a day, and at least you know how to hold it convincingly, which is all we need at the moment. I'll be close by, and so will the others, until your time has come."

With that not very reassuring remark, he had left, muttering about supplies and rations which had my head spinning, because since when do ghosts need to eat? The whole affair began to creep me out more and more, and if Dora hadn't assured me that the plan was Sam's, I would have simply bailed out and left the ghosts to their war games.

That night I talked to my mother. Night being relative here, because there really wasn't much of a difference between the dreary, dark day and the equally dreary, even darker night. Also, day and night seemed to be pretty random here, coming and going whenever the ghost in charge of the realm felt like it, because my mother told me it was Monday afternoon.

Very carefully, I told her about the situation in the small ghost kingdom, only leaving out minor details like the fact that I would be joining the army in an attack the next day, and what I was supposed to do when the battle reached its peak. No need to worry her.

"So," she said, apparently looking at the images I was sending her through the camera mounted on my head, "This looks an awful lot like a medieval army camp."

"That's because it _is_ a medieval army camp," I said, "These are ghosts. This is the way you're supposed to go to war, so that's what they do. I'm sure that if whoever is in charge here thought up something along the line of say airplanes or tanks, this would all be over pretty soon."

"Awesome." Tucker's voice in the background. "Look at those peaks! And look at those knights, practicing!"

"Interesting," my mother said. I could hear the tremor in her voice and braced myself. "And what aren't you telling me, Danny?"

I opened my mouth to let out the lie, but found that I couldn't. I couldn't tell her about the confused mess in my head, about how hard it was to stay focused, about the almost overwhelming fear that I was going to fail at what I was supposed to do, that I wasn't strong enough. I couldn't tell her that every time I tried to get some rest, the image of the beheaded knight came back to me, his head rolling all the way up to my feet on the imaginary ground, and then the helmet opening and my own lifeless eyes staring into nothingness.

I wasn't scared. I was terrified.

I raised my hand and flipped the switch. For the next hour, I busied myself with going over maps of the castle, memorizing each corridor and door and entrance to the towers, agonizingly slowly because not only did I not have a head for maps, but also my mind didn't seem to want to cooperate properly. After that, I wandered around aimlessly, watching knights practice, staring at the forest surrounding us and trying to come up with an alternative plan that didn't depend on me so much.

All this to push the disturbing images from my mind. And of course, the harder you try to _not_ think about something, the more you think about it. I was sitting on a barrel, trying to figure out how to reach the bottle of vodka without actually turning myself human, when a particularly loud clang behind me – one knight hitting the other knight's sword – had me tumbling forward. I don't remember hitting the ground.

_The black knight cried out, but his cry was cut off when the white knight literally cut off his head in one blow. The head spun through the air and strangely landed on the imaginary ground, rolling and bouncing in my direction, leaving a green trail floating in the air. It was eerie but fascinating, and I got up and moved myself closer to the severed head. I had never seen a severed head before and I was curious._

_So I placed myself on the imaginary ground and walked to the black helmet, which was leaking green ectoplasm. From the other side, Cuminder was approaching. He was still far away though, so I'd have plenty of time to get out of there in a hurry when necessary. I squatted and carefully opened the knight's visor._

_Familiar green eyes, pale face, the face of a stranger, but still a face that I saw in the mirror each morning. And then, suddenly, the face changed. Two small rings formed around it, traveling up and down the head, and the green eyes changed to glassy blue ones, the pale face remained pale and the green ectoplasm turned red. I could only watch._

_A cold blade against my neck brought me back to reality. I tore my eyes away from my... from the head and looked up into the haughty face of Cuminder. His white face was uncomfortably close, and I was sure that if he would actually be breathing – and I would actually be breathing too and thereby smelling – his breath would smell like decay. He kept the sword firmly in place as his body grew, huge and white._

"_You're a freak," he said, "Freaks are against the rules. Say it, boy."_

_I couldn't get myself to move, couldn't talk. I could only stare at him. The blade pressed uncomfortably against my neck, and I felt a cold trickle run down my collar._

"_I...," I said, "I... I'm a freak."_

Mud in my mouth. I spluttered a little and tried to open my eyes. Mud in my eyes.

My hands moved, clawing into the muddy ground. It took me way to long to figure out how to push myself up into a sitting position, my back against something round. I tried to wipe the mud out off my face and out of my eyes, only managing to make more of a mess of it. Finally, I was able to open one eye and I looked around.

There was nobody there. I had fallen behind the barrels and, obviously, nobody had seen me fall down. Behind me, I could hear rough voices, ghostly echoing. I spit out some mud and examined myself, only to come to the conclusion that there really was only one way to get rid of the embarrassing amount of mud on my hazmat suit. On my hands and knees, I crawled to the tent in front of me, peeked under it and, upon finding it empty, quickly crawled inside.

Once there, I reached inside of me, seeking out human warmth, trying to find my own humanity, something that I still possessed, however freakishly different I was now. The two rings formed, a little reluctantly, and I felt my blood starting to rush through my veins again, ice cold air filling my lungs, the low drum of my heartbeat. When the transformation was complete, I concentrated for a moment and turned myself momentarily intangible to the ectoplasm around me. The mud fell to the floor.

I sighed. Goosebumps immediately formed on my arms, not only from the cold but also from the creepy feeling of death brushing against my skin, as if there were dead spiders crawling on my arms. I shivered, and was about to turn ghost again, when I noticed the weight in the pocket of my left trouser leg. I hesitated.

I had a night to get through. But I needed to be clear headed. I had no idea how long this night would last. But I also needed a little courage. I reached down and retrieved the bottle from my pocket, the bottle which presence had been nagging in the back of my head the entire time I had been in the ghost zone, but which had been relatively unreachable when in ghost form.

For a moment, I wondered what Sam would think about this, but then I dismissed it. It was unimportant now, I'd deal with it later, right now I needed comfort. I broke the seal, opened the bottle and took a few measured gulps. Then I moved to the back of the tent and sat down on the ground, careful not to accidentally go intangible as I would then fall through the canvas, and trying to calculate how much I'd need to get through the night, taking into account that the alcohol didn't have as much effect on me when I was in ghost form. I ended up drinking half the bottle.

* * *

Dora looked up at me and caught my eye. "It's almost time," she said, her calm voice and the tranquil expression on her face belying the terror that was in her eyes.

I was sure I looked the same way, but I just nodded and turned back to my examination of the black castle. Beside me, Sir Donald moved, then stood still again. Everywhere, I could see restless movement, people... no, ghosts, whispering. Peaks, rising up from the ordered mess of the crowd in front of me. Anticipation, high in the air, along with fear and a strange mixture of regret and joy. This was it. A full war. What had I gotten myself into?

I wondered what it must look like from the castle, looking down on what must seem like a sea of ghosts, all waiting to attack. What would Sam think, knowing that she had orchestrated all of this? So much depended on the plan to succeed, her life, her wellbeing, the chance for her to ever return to the living world... I tried to take a shuddering breath, but it brought no comfort. Sometimes, being a ghost just sucks.

I blinked a few times to drive away the light headache. Other than that, I didn't move. My thoughts wandered again, and in that odd way my mind works, I inevitably returned to the memory of the beheaded corpse. And this time, I remembered something else. I shifted my weight, bent sidewards a little and whispered in Dora's ear.

"I have the body of that knight Cuminder beheaded in Amity Park the other day," I said, "Is it really possible to reattach the head?"

Dora's head snapped sidewards so quickly she would have snapped her neck if she had had any vertebrae. My mouth twitched at the unnatural movement. She stared at me, a strange mixture of hope and terror in her eyes.

"You have Sir Robert?" she asked.

"What?" I asked, confused, "Who?"

"Sir Robert," she said, her voice rising. In front of us, ghosts were turning their heads in that eerie way that ghosts do and looked at us. Dora noticed, because she lowered her voice. "Cuminder slew Sir Robert the day he came back and told everybody he had met you. He... I..."

"He didn't exactly introduce himself," I said, "But I have his... remains... in the thermos in my backpack back at the encampment. You can go see for yourself."

We had quickly determined that I couldn't wear my backpack under or over the armor now covering my body, so I had had to leave everything behind. Tucker's PDA, the headset and the camera were in a small pouch wrapped around my waist, which, if possible, made the armor even more uncomfortable. But at least it was well protected there.

"Thank you," Dora was saying, and I turned my attention back to her, if only to not look at the increasingly intimidating looking castle. "Sir Robert... is very dear to me."

I should probably have felt some sympathy now, but the only thing she managed to do is turn my mind back to the gruesome fact that you could sever a ghost's head off his body and it wouldn't 'die', it would still exist, but until the head was reattached, it wouldn't be able to do anything. Then I wondered if the head would still be able to think and see, and I felt sick.

To be stuck on a pole on top of the battlements, looking out over the plains, only seeing what was in front of you, knowing that your body was missing...

Just when I was starting to think that if I needed to throw up I'd better remove my helmet, a loud horn sounded, its low tone rippling through the mist that was hanging over the fields. A surge of excitement went through the army. Ghosts, until then hunched forward, trying to keep their head low in anticipation of what was to come, suddenly straightened, looking out eagerly towards the castle. Then, hardly visible because of said mist, a few figures emerged from the front, raising their glowing swords high, bellowing a battle cry. It was answered by the thousands of ghosts surrounding me. And then we moved.

I held out my hand and quickly formed a sword by containing a concentrated ecto blast, reinforcing it with some of my ice powers. It gave the sword a bluish glow, and added to the sharpness and strength of the thing. It was a trick Sir Donald had taught me when he found out I had ice powers, and I was quite pleased with the result. It wouldn't help me much when facing a more skilled opponent (and almost everybody was), but it might deter ghost soldiers from attacking me in the first place, because of the power display of the blue sword.

Caught up as I had been in the creation of the sword and keeping my feet firmly on the ground – they had warned me specifically for that, any ghost seen flying would immediately be suspect of being something else – in the forward movement, I almost missed the opening of the great black doors of the castle, and the spilling out of Aragon's army, spreading quickly across the plain in front of us. Sir Donald nudged me while I was staring in fascination at the glow of my sword and I looked up.

"They're falling for it," he said smugly, "Aragon's arrogant. He should have stayed in the castle but he's meeting us head-on instead."

I blinked at the enormous mass of ghosts forming in front of the castle. I hadn't thought it'd work, I had thought this was the one weak point in the plan, but the ghosts had been sure. And trust ghosts to know ghosts. They had known exactly how Aragon would react because like all ghosts, he was predictable. It had taken a human – Sam – to come up with a plan to beat the ghost at his own game by changing the game, something a ghost was by definition incapable off. No wonder the generals had been pissed. They were being pushed out of character, and character is all a ghost is.

And then I no longer had time to be philosophical about the whole ghost thing because the two armies clashed into each other.

I'm not sure how to describe it. It was madness, from start to finish. I had no idea what was going on except for the few feet around me, and the only thing happening there was people... ghosts... hacking into each other. Limbs were flying all around me, and I was quickly covered in sticky green ectoplasm. There were screams and wails and a ghost bellowing a battle cry that was suddenly cut off when his opponent carelessly severed his head. I ducked.

My hands firmly on the sword, holding it in the position Sir Donald had taught me, I stayed close to Dora, who herself was wielding a sword quite expertly. The air cleared somewhat, we got some space around us and now I could see that we were surrounded by a circle of knights fighting off everybody who threatened to attack us in the back. Dora stuck her sword into an opponent that came rushing through the cordon, and I flinched when I saw it protrude through his back. She withdrew, and he fell to his knees, blood, I mean, ectoplasm running from his mouth. He dropped forward.

"What happens to him?" I yelled at Dora, "He's not dead, is he?"

Dora smiled grimly. "No. He'll heal within minutes. Which is why..." She heaved up her sword and let it come down on the back of his neck. The head came right off and rolled away a few feet. For some reason, I felt an urge to burst out laughing.

And I probably would have if a shout from Sir Donald didn't have me turn around in a flash and heave up my sword to parry a vicious blow that would have severed my arm. The clash of the swords reverberated through my arms and I winced. The ghost, however, didn't hesitate and swung again. I parried.

A few feet away, Sir Donald was battling another ghost, shooting desperate glances at me as if trying to tell me to hold on, he'd be with me in a moment. I tried glaring at him for making stupid suggestions because hey, what was I going to do, ask my assailant to wait to my protector could cut his head off? The brief inattention cost me though, because the ghost attacking me swung his sword again and this time I only managed to partially block his blow. The sharp end of the sword slid past mine and cut into my arm deeply, right below where my arm protection ended.

The pain registered, somewhere in my brain, but it had a strange effect. Instead of falling back, trying to keep myself together and letting go of my sword to grab my arm – which would surely have led to my death – I attacked.

Hardly knowing what I was doing, I let my sword come down on the ghost in front of me, who easily parried my blows. I could see his red eyes glowing behind the visor of his helmet, an amused glint to them. He was simply enjoying himself, he was playing with me like a cat plays with a mouse, only to kill it when finally bored with it. He should have killed me when he had the chance.

I smirked at him. Sir Donald hit him in the back. He went down without a sound and in a reflex, I let my sword come down on his neck. His head rolled away and then we were moving again and I had no time to think about it.

We were moving forward. The chaos around us seemed more or less under control, and of every knight fighting in my proximity, at least two third was ours. We seemed to be winning. Again a surge of excitement went through the ranks when others noticed what I was noticing.

Our opponents were falling back. We _were_ winning. But of course, we couldn't win, not really.

As soon as we started pressing on, or at least, the knight around me started pressing on, I was just waving my sword in the general direction we were going, a loud bellowing sounded from the castle. The knights around me paused. Further along the lines, ghosts were looking up. Momentum was lost. A huge black dragon rose up from the castle, flapped its wings a few times and breathed fire in the direction of the fighting armies, burning friend and foe indiscriminately.

Screams erupted. The knights, our knights, were falling back. The dragon rose up high in the air, turned, and came rushing down at us.

That was my cue.


	41. The Castle II

A/N: OK, this is it, the last chapter before I leave... although I might have a small little update thingy for you before I leave, just because I'm nice like that (or because I'm evil like that... I never know which it is :).

Cordria did an awesome 'missing scene' for this story, look here: http: // cordria . deviantart . com / journal / 25863130 / (remove the spaces, or use the link in my profile). Go read, it's both funny and morbid.

And yes, the kingdom of Armagondia is also featuring in my original story 'The prince and the dragon' (thanks for the review, Dark-Angel). No particular reason for that, other than to see if anybody would notice :)

I'm leaving on the 21st, and I'll be back around august 7th.

**

* * *

LOST**

**Chapter 41: The Castle II**

* * *

It was a simple plan, really. All good plans are. Don't over-complicate things by trying to be clever, leaving intricate traps and too many steps that can go wrong. Draw him out and keep him occupied, and then behind his back recapture the castle. Aragon was to 'go dragon' and come out of the castle, leaving it basically in the hands of Sam, who could then open the gate and let Dora's army in. Which would be completely useless if the army was decimated before it even reached the gate, because there was absolutely no way they could get past the dragon.

Which was where I came in.

It seemed that a few years back, I, as Danny, had more or less successfully battled Aragon in his dragon form. Since then, I had only become stronger. I should be able to hold out for a while and draw the backward prince away from the castle. Then Dora would capture the castle with her army, find her necklace, go dragon herself and rescue me, at which point I could go into the castle and free Sam. If Aragon was in his dragon form, there would be no way for him to operate the remote to the collar Sam was wearing, so she should be relatively safe during all of this. I didn't want to think about what would happen to her if somehow we didn't manage to defeat Aragon this way.

Like I said, a fairly simple plan. That depended entirely on me being able to keep Aragon occupied long enough. Looking up at the charging dragon, frozen on the spot, only one thought entered my mind.

"This is gonna hurt."

With some effort, I pulled myself out of my stupor and for the second time that day reached for my human side. A trickle of warmth, swiftly growing, and then the two rings traveled up and down my body, transforming me, turning me human. When the transformation was complete, I staggered, hit by a sudden wave of nausea and a pounding headache. I clenched my teeth, balled my fists and phased through the armor. It fell to the ground with a satisfying clunk, and if I hadn't felt so hungover I would have been very happy with the loss of weight. As it was now, I just wanted to throw up.

Shivering from the icy chill of the ghost zone, I reached again, letting the numbing feeling of going ghost wash over me again. The bright light of the rings hurt my eyes and I had to squint to keep an eye on Aragon, who no doubt had noticed my not so inconspicuous transformations by now. But he had a lot of momentum, and by the time he was trying to turn in mid-dive, I was already up in the air, feeling much better now that the blood-alcohol mix had once again been replaced with ectoplasm.

My hands started to glow. Aragon's dragon eyes widened. I blasted him.

Below me, ghosts started to cheer. I didn't look down, but charged right into Aragon, slamming both my fists into his face. He reeled back, stunned and taken completely off guard. I hit him again and grinned. A wave of elation rushed through me. This was it, finally, _finally_ I got to hit back, I got to be on the offensive, I got to actually hit somebody where it hurt. And I was going to hurt him. Badly. He had taken Sam. _Nobody_ takes my Sam.

Only mildly disturbed by that thought, I started powering up a massive ecto blast. Aragon was hanging high up in the air, shaking his head. The necklace glittered around his neck. It had occurred to me that if I managed to get it away from him, he'd be powerless. But Dora had warned me against that.

"He'll be protecting the necklace with everything he has. Don't underestimate him. His claws will rip you apart."

I let go of the blast... and missed. Aragon, seemingly having come to his senses quite quickly, but playing dumb to draw me out, dodged it easily and then came at me. He let out a terrible roar and I backpedaled, scrambling, to get out of his way. I almost managed it.

He slammed into my side and I went spinning. The next thing I knew was that I was completely engulfed in flames. Completely disoriented, I did the only thing I could. I encased myself in ice and let myself drop to the ground.

The crash sent a shock wave though me and the hill I landed on. The ice shattered, and I randomly raised my hands above my head and formed a shield. Just in time. The dragon's flames slid right off it, burning the ground around me but not me. It got very warm very quickly though, so I expanded the shield and pushed the flames back with some effort. Just when I was wondering how long the beast could keep it up and how long my shield would hold the flames, he stopped.

I dropped the shield and looked up at him. He was hovering about fifteen yards away from me, studying me. Then he turned his head and looked at the castle.

Not good.

I followed his gaze, and saw what he saw. The gate, open. Ghosts, clearly belonging to Dora's army, fighting in front of the gate in order to get in. More fighting on the battlements. A banner being pulled down from one of the towers. He turned back to me, eyes wild, obviously only now realizing what I had been doing. Then he turned, and made to fly back to his castle.

"NO!" I yelled.

The powerful wail slammed right into him and drove him into the ground. A sudden weakness washed over me, warning me that I should be careful in using this particular power. Aragon was scrambling, pushing himself off the ground again in an attempt to fly back and try and salvage his reign. I couldn't let that happen, so I went after him, overtaking him when he was about halfway there. I slammed into him, and the both of us took a nose dive right into the swamp where we happened to be flying over at that moment.

The splash was enormous. Instead of letting go of the dragon I held on tightly, and we surfaced together, dripping with slime and mud and other unpleasant things. He clawed at me and I felt his sharp nails ripping my suit and dig into my back. I ignored the stabbing pain and went for the necklace, screaming when he ripped the arm off my hazmat suit and tore deeply into the muscles in my arm. And still I didn't let go.

The pain made me dizzy though. The water dripping in my eyes didn't make it any easier either. Coughing, spluttering, groaning, I wrapped my fingers around the jewel hanging around his neck. And felt the power of it.

It was mostly anger. A fierce, wild, untamed anger, burning and bubbling in waves washing over me. A need to destroy rose up in me, to kill, to _obliterate_. I drew from the anger coming from the jewel, or maybe coming from deep inside of me, I could no longer tell the difference between me, the swamp, the dragon and the jewel. The only thing I knew was that I needed to break it.

Somewhere, a great distance away, somebody was screaming. The voice sounded vaguely familiar, and I wondered who it was, me or Aragon. Or maybe it was the both of us, a united roar, two ghosts linked together by an ancient artifact. In my peripheral vision I saw trees being flattened, the sound waves causing a circular pattern of destruction around us.

My hand started glowing white. My clawed fingers dug deep into the dragon's throat, drawing green blood. The white glow spread, covering the jewel and part of the necklace, and the jewel started resonating. I squeezed and poured in even more power. The whine coming from the jewel grew louder, battering against my chest. My teeth started hurting and I clenched my jaws, but it didn't help. A drop of water dripped from my hair and fell down, slowly.

I stared at the drop, suspended in the air right in front of my eyes. It was moving, it wasn't like time had stopped, but it was slow. I looked down at the jewel, at the white light engulfing it, at the angry red glow trying to get out.

The drop fell. The jewel shattered.

I was blown backwards and slammed into the remains of a tree, fallen down earlier from my sonic outburst. Dazed, I slumped down against the bottom end of the trunk that was still standing, only vaguely aware of the splinters that entered the raw wounds in my back and then I just sat there, the world oddly numb and far away. I think I even blacked out for a moment, because the next thing I knew was Aragon's ugly face, scarred and bloody and completely human, barely two inches away from mine. I stared into his crazy eyes and only then realized that he was grabbing my suit, lifting me up in the air like a rag doll. I felt like one too. His mouth moved and his face shook madly back and forth. I blinked in surprise.

Sound came back, quite suddenly. One moment, everything was peaceful and quiet, the next, Aragon's loud voice bellowing obscenities in my face. Now that I thought about it, it wasn't him that was going madly back and forth, but me. He was shaking me.

This had to stop.

Slowly, I moved my fingers, then my hand and finally my whole arm. The thing felt strangely awkward and stiff, like it didn't belong to me, but I managed. I brought it up, placed it on one of Aragon's hands and froze him. He stopped in mid curse, mouth open, eyes wide. I pushed him away from me and he toppled backwards and splashed into the shallow water of the swamp. There.

I watched him float for a moment, and then looked around, noting with a detached interest that the world was swaying. I waited. Of course I knew full well that it was me that was swaying, but that was not what it felt like. Finally, the world around me settled somewhat, and I was able to focus on what was happening at the castle.

A whole lot, as it turned out.

The fighting was still going strong, and with growing apprehension, I realized that it seemed to have spread over the entire castle, from what I could see of it. Out on the field, Aragon's army was trying to crush Dora's, driving them into the moat. The gate seemed to be in Dora's hands, but on top of the battlements, some ferocious fighting was going on. As I watched, two knights wearing the dark armor that most of Dora's army wore, fell down and crashed into the moat with a splash. They didn't come up.

With some difficulty, I started hovering. Then I took off, my flight erratic at first, but quickly becoming more steady as I gained speed. Sam was in the middle of it, and until Dora had found the other necklace she wouldn't be safe. I had to rescue her.

As I came closer, I got a better look at the chaos of the fighting going on. I ignored it though, it was no longer my problem. I really didn't care who won, as long as I got Sam out of there. Ignoring the strange rule that you had to stay on the ground, I simply flew over the high walls and landed in the courtyard, well away from the fighting and right in front of a small door. Then I looked around. Now what.

I scanned the courtyard, but it didn't leave me with many options. There was fighting near the gate, near the stairs leading up to the battlements and near the entrance to what seemed to be stables. I eyed them curiously for a moment, as I hadn't seen any ghost horses, but then dismissed it. I couldn't be bothered with the peculiarities of this place, I had one goal and one goal only: free Sam.

Suddenly worried, I looked down at the pouch still strapped around my waist. It was supposed to be waterproof and strong enough to keep the PDA and the communication unit safe, but I had taken quite a beating. It looked fine though, and there was nothing I could do about it, so I dismissed it and was about to turn around and see if I could get in when two pairs of hands grabbed my arms and pulled me through the door behind my back.

I yelped in surprise and almost let out an ectoblast. In fact, I would have if my reactions hadn't slowed down to that of an old man. I managed to hold back when two voices started whispering to me urgently from either side, telling me to be quiet, to wait. I struggled a little.

"Danny stop," a voice coming from the left said, "I've got you, we have to hide."

The voice was unfamiliar, but I knew who it had to be. Her hands were warm on my arm. This wasn't a ghost, this was a living, breathing human being. I pulled my arm free and turned around.

Long black hair. Purple eyes. Long black dress, a bodice that left a little too much cleavage and a necklace with a white, slightly glowing skull on it. Fingerless laced gloves, purple and black, going all the way up to her elbows. Heavy eyeliner, black lipstick, black polished nails. A shining metal collar around her neck, with a tiny blinking green light on it.

Sam.

I could only stare at her. A silence fell over the room, a ballroom of sorts, completely empty. The floor looked polished, the high vaulted ceiling decorated with images of hunting parties. Five huge chandeliers with candles, their flames lighting the place in a pale glow. At the other end, some abandoned musical instruments, a piano, violin, a harp. The walls were decorated with black garlands.

"Sam," I whispered.

She had been staring at me too, eyes wide. My voice shook her out of it, and she started shaking her head.

"Damnit," she said, "I said I wouldn't cry." She sniffed and wiped her eyes. "Are you alright?"

I looked down at my bare left arm, still covered in sticky ectoplasm. The deep wound seemed to be closing already. My back was not so much hurting as it was itching. It probably looked a lot worse than it actually was.

"Yeah," I said, "I will be."

She nodded. We stared at each other. Then, suddenly, without being aware of the fact that I had moved, we were hugging each other tightly. Sam's hands pressed in my back and I winced, but didn't let go of her. I never wanted to let go again.

"I thought I'd lost you," came her muffled voice from my shoulder, "I thought you were dead."

I kissed her hair. "Never," I said, "And even if I had, I'd have come back from the dead to get you."

There was something wrong with my voice, as I had a hard time pushing the words out past the lump in my throat. I swallowed a couple of times and leaned my chin on her head. Only then did I notice the other figure standing a few feet away from us, arms crossed, a worried expression on her face.

"Hi Dora," I said.

"Danny," she said, "I'm sorry. We found the necklace, but..."

Slowly, I freed myself from Sam's arms and pulled her aside. I didn't let go though, but wrapped my arm around her shoulders, being all too aware of her warm body against my cold one.

"I could have used your help, you know," I said.

Dora held out a necklace. The locket was empty.

"We found it," she said, "But when I picked it up it... exploded."

With a sinking feeling, I stared at the necklace. "When was this?" I asked.

Sam shrugged, jabbing her shoulder painfully against my arm. "Just now. Twenty minutes ago, maybe," she said.

Twenty minutes. Had it only been twenty minutes since I had fought Aragon and destroyed his necklace?

"Um," I said, "These necklaces... yours and your brother's, they are linked together somehow?"

It was Dora's turn to stare. Her blue face took on an interesting series of expressions, first bafflement, then realization and finally anger.

"What did you do?" she asked, "How did you defeat Aragon? What happened to his necklace?!"

"I destroyed it," I said.

The screams outside somehow accentuated the silence in the room. Sam wiggled out from under my arm and just stood there, arms limp at her side. Dora's mouth was moving, but no sound came out. A tremor went though the building. Dora found her voice.

"Destroyed?"

Pounding on the door, first fairly moderate, but increasing in strength. The three of us turned and looked at it. It was already budging, its hinges coming loose. A screw, wedged loose by the force applied to the door, fell to the floor. Another tremor went through the building, causing a cello leaning against the wall on the other end of the room to fall down with a clatter.

"We have to go," I said.

Sam, up until then obviously not quite knowing what to do, took charge. She grabbed my arm and started pulling me towards the other end of the room. I let myself be pulled for a moment before quickly catching up with her. She let go of me then, and we ran side by side. Dora, after a moment of hesitation, followed suit. We reached the other end of the room just as the soldiers who had been pounding on the door managed to break it down completely and started filing into the room. Sam pushed open another door, we slipped out of the room into a hallway and Dora closed it softly behind her.

"Let's find a place where we can get that thing off of you," I yelled as we ran down the hallway.

Behind us, the door we had just come through burst open. I grabbed Sam's hand, opened the nearest door and pulled her inside. Dora had the presence of mind to follow. I all but closed the door and peered into the hallway through a crack. Knights and soldiers passed us, clearly belonging to Aragon's army. Obviously, they didn't know their prince was frozen way out in the swamp.

"Where's my brother now?" Dora asked.

I waved my hand in the darkness of the room. "Out there somewhere."

Dora grabbed my arm. "What did you do to him? You didn't..."

"Destroy him too?" I shook my head. "Nah. He's frozen."

"How long will that keep him?" Dora asked.

I thought about that. I had no clue, so I shrugged. "I while," I said vaguely.

Aragon was no longer my concern. Sam was. I started messing with the pouch on my waist, having some trouble untying the strings holding it together to get out the equipment for freeing Sam from the collar.

"Why can't you just phase it out," Sam asked when I told her what I was doing, "This is the ghost zone. We're the ghosts here."

I shook my head. "The pouch is shielded. And a shield really some sort of controlled ectoblast. And ectoblasts touch everything."

Sam nodded and opened her mouth to say something, when another tremor went through the building. Something I couldn't see in the dark fell down with a clatter. I had the feeling we were in some sort of janitor's closet. Outside, I could hear shouts and fighting, but we seemed to be safe in here for the moment. Grunting in annoyance, I pulled at the strings that held the pouch strapped to my waist. Sam pushed my hands away.

"Here, let me."

Her nimble fingers started working on the knot and I looked down at her, taking in her appearance. And it made me wonder.

"Why the dress?" I asked, "What was going on here?"

Sam laughed a little, then stepped back in triumph, holding the pouch.

"My wedding of course," she said, "We had to do something to distract Aragon from the attack and this was it. I postponed it endlessly, found fault in everything he did and the poor bastard kept changing everything to my liking. Sad really. I do feel a bit sorry for him."

"Don't," I said, "He did this." I pointed at my arm and my back and Sam winced.

She opened her mouth to say something, when the door suddenly burst open and two enemy knights burst in. I whirled, forming an ecto-sword in mid-turn and blocking the blow that would have landed somewhere on my head. For a moment, we just stood there, staring at each other. Then I simply formed a second, shorter sword – more a long knife really – in my left hand and gutted him. The ghost staggered backwards, a stunned expression on his face, from what I could see of it through the visor. He bumped right into his companion standing behind him.

I raised my sword, discarding the knife and grabbing it with both hands. The knight standing behind his unlucky companion pushed the wounded knight away and came at me. I swung my sword, but he blocked me and then pushed me back, and if Dora hadn't come to my aid at that point, I don't know what would have happened. She held out her hand, forming a bright blue sword, and swung it at the charging knight. His head came off, spinning through the air and bouncing against the wall. I landed on the floor with a thud. And so did his body.

The other knight gurgled a little, but started to get up already, grabbing his sword. I did the only thing I knew that would make him stop and let my sword come down before he had fully recovered.

All went quiet again. I just stood there, gripping my sword. Dora stared down at the knights. Sam seemed to have stopped breathing. The door was still swinging in its hinges, squeaking a little. Then the hand on one of the headless ghost twitched, and Sam made some sort of choking sound. Time to get the hell out of there. I turned around.

"Thanks," I said to Dora.

She looked up at me, but didn't say anything, obviously not being too happy with me a that point. Her sword was still raised, and on instinct I almost raised mine. Tension rose, until Dora pressed her lips together and spread the fingers of her hand, allowing the sword to dissipate. I lowered mine. Dora turned to Sam.

"Go somewhere safe," she said, "I'll find Donald and then we'll see what we can do about Aragon's army."

Sam nodded, and turned her head away from the twitching ghost on the ground. I stepped aside to let Dora pass, and she left the closet without so much as glancing at me. I turned back to Sam and gently touched her arm.

"Let's get out of here," I said.

She shivered and I almost withdrew my hand, but she prevented it by placing her hand on mind, giving me a wan smile.

"I'm sorry," she said, jerking her head in the general direction of the ghost Dora had slain, "I know he's not dead, it's just... it's creepy." She laughed a little. "I'm not much of a goth, huh."

"It's creepy," I agreed. I looked down at the knight but couldn't quite place the feeling I had. The twitching was annoying though, so I kicked the head away from him. He stopped.

"There," I said, "That's better. Now, where can we have some privacy? Tucker and Jazz cooked up a pretty nifty piece of equipment to get that collar off you... unless you know where the remote is of course?"

Sam shook her head, shooting me a strange look while pointedly avoiding looking at anything on the floor. "Aragon always kept it with him,", she said, "Did you say you froze him? It's probably frozen with him then."

"I don't know how long he stays that way," I admitted, "So we'd better hurry. You know the place, Sam, where can we hide?"

The smallest of smiles, slightly smug, revealed that she indeed had made it her business to know the castle inside and out. She took my hand and, after checking that the hallway was empty, dragged me out of the closet. A right turn, a left, and then two more turns, and I was completely lost. We hid several times when some of the ruckus of the fight seemed to come our way, and had to detour several times also because of fighting in the hallway. We went up stairs, then down other stairs, and at one point I was sure we were underground. Sam was muttering to herself almost the entire time, and after a few attempts to listen to what she was saying, I gave up. Another idea occurred to me though.

"Why don't we go through the walls?" I asked, "If I turn human..."

"Nope," she said, peering around another corner, "This way we can hide. If you go through a wall you have no idea what you're getting into."

She spoke with feeling, and I got the impression she was speaking from personal experience, but I let it rest. There was no time for extensive fact exchanging, I just had to take her word for it. She was still holding on to the PDA and the camera, and I resigned myself to simply following her, hoping she knew what she was doing.

"And," she continued, stepping out into the hallway she had been looking into previously, obviously deeming it safe to continue, "Those swords for some reason are just as deadly for humans as for ghosts."

I nodded, instinctively seeing the truth in that. Swords were like tightly contained, and in some cases, when ice powers were used, even frozen ectoblasts. Ectoblasts could harm people. Therefore ecto swords could also harm people.

Which of course made my job all the more difficult. If we could simply walk out through the fighting mob, life would have been so simple. But nothing is ever easy for me.

Suddenly, Sam pushed me back, cursing softly. The both of us ducked into the nearest room, which turned out to be some sort of dining room with a long table standing in the middle of it, seating at least, by the looks of it, fifty people. Everything was dark in there, the only light coming from the high windows on the other side. The greenish light gave the room a spooky atmosphere. The both of us stopped right inside the door. Sam didn't close it completely, but turned around and peered through the crack. I joined her.

At first, I saw only a mass of fighting at the end of the hallway, which seemed to lead to a bigger, central hallway. From what I could see of it, there seemed to be a grand staircase, and knights in black armor – Dora's army – were trying to fight their way up while knights in white armor were easily holding them off, having the advantage of being higher up. And at the top of the staircase, flustering, red eyes burning in anger...

Aragon.

"Crap," I said.

"Hear hear," Sam muttered, and then gently closed the door and looked around. "We seem to be stuck here. Let's do it, there's no more time. As soon as he finds out I caused all this..."

I shuddered. Somewhere, deep inside of me, I could feel panic's ugly claws digging into me. Time was running out, we needed to do something now. I grabbed her hand and quickly dragged her to the middle of the room. I pulled a chair from the table, turned it around and sat her down on it. Then I looked up and checked my surroundings again. From this point I could see both the door through which we had entered and a door on the other end of the room, presumably the entrance to the kitchen. Not perfect. It'd have to do.

Quickly, I grabbed the headset with the camera out of Sam's hands and placed the thing on my head. Finger hovering above the switch to turn it on, I stopped.

"My parents know," I said to Sam.

Her eyes widened. "They know? How? What happened? How did they take it?"

"I don't know," I said, answering only the last question, "I took off before I could see their reaction." I looked down for a moment, thinking about my mother. "Not well."

I hit the switch. "Tucker?"

Again, the reaction was immediate. Scrambling, heavy static, then, "Danny?!"

"Hey Jazz," I said, "I really need Tucker right now. What time is it there?"

"Oh my God Sam!" she screamed into my ear. I winced and quickly lifted the thing off my ear for a moment.

Sam smiled, obviously having heard Jazz' rather loud outcry. "Hi Jazz," she said.

"You did it!" Jazz continued screaming, "You found her! Guys, guys! Mom!"

Fumbling, more static, Jazz's voice moving away from the microphone, for which I was grateful. I held out my hand and Sam placed Tucker's PDA in it. I looked down at it, turned it on and then looked up again, to find her staring at me.

"What?" I asked, and then, trying to lighten the mood, "Is there something on my face or something?"

She laughed and shook her head. "Are you alright?" she asked, "You seem..." Her voice trailed away, and she seemed to be looking for words.

"I'm fine. It's just a scratch," I said, knowing full well that that wasn't what she meant.

I avoided her eyes, that were now scrutinizing me. She knew me well, I remembered. Now that we were out of the action for a moment, she had time to study me. I wasn't sure she would like what she saw.

"You seem detached," she finally said.

Detached. I chewed on that for a moment. Detached. That didn't sound too bad. Better than stark raving mad, or losing control, or so stressed out that I'd do anything to numb the feeling that my brain would implode.

"Why?" I asked.

She shook her head. "I don't know. Just... What you went through..."

"Don't." The word left my mouth before I knew it. Sam winced, and I realized it had sounded harsher than I had meant. "I'm sorry," I said, "I didn't..."

"Hey Danny!"

Tucker's voice, loud in my ear, had me almost jumping out of my skin. If I'd had a heartbeat, it would have skyrocketed.

"Geez, Tucker, don't do that," I said.

"You found Sam, man, that's awesome!" Tucker continued, completely ignoring me, "Just look at her... hey, what's she wearing?"

I frowned at Tucker, which was impossible because there was no way he could see me. "Keep your eyes where they belong, Tucker!"

Tucker laughed, sounding slightly giddy. "Hey, I'm just looking at what you're looking at, you know."

Quickly, I looked up at Sam's face, hoping that she wouldn't see the blush that crept up my face. Ignoring Tucker, who was still laughing, I grinned at Sam.

"Tucker wants to know what you're wearing," I informed her.

She immediately started scowling. "Tucker should remind himself who usually wears steal nosed combat boots," she said.

The laughing stopped and I heard a gulp in my ear. My grin widened. "Shall we get on with this?" I asked, "Then you two can bash at each other in person and I won't have to relay everything Tucker says. You know how words get twisted that way."

"Right," Tucker said, "OK, yes, good idea. Um, where's the PDA? Ah. And you turned it on, OK, now show me the collar."

I moved closer to Sam and pointed my head and the camera to the blinking green light on the collar. Being so close, I couldn't help but notice the raw skin beneath it, and for a moment I had to fight down a rush of anger. Tucker was muttering in my ear, oblivious, but Sam looked down at me worriedly.

"OK," Tucker said, "I see it. See those little holes next to the light? Plug the wires into those little sockets, they should fit."

I did as he told me, and fumbled a little with the small plugs before I managed to plug them in. As I was doing that, a different voice suddenly started talking to me. My mother.

"Danny?" Uncertainty in her voice. "What... are you alright? Your arm..."

I looked at my left hand which was still coated in ectoplasm and quickly withdrew it outside the camera view.

"I'm fine, mom," I said, seeing Sam's eyes widen at me mentioning my mother, "Just a scratch."

"Excuse me, Mrs F." Tucker's voice again, and I was glad. I really didn't want to talk to my mother and have to explain what I had done to get where I was now. "Danny, can you touch the touch screen of the PDA every now and then? I don't want the thing to go asleep on me right now."

"Sure," I said, looking down at the PDA. Numbers were scrolling down the screen at a speed that there was no way for me to read them. Data, being transmitted through the ghost zone, relayed all the way to Tucker's computer where he could analyze it and hopefully come up with a way to relieve Sam of her collar.

A loud clang at the door, and it burst open. I drew Sam down from the chair and pressed her to the floor, hoping the table would hide us from whoever had entered. I could feel her heart pounding and she shook a little. I looked at her. To my surprise, she was laughing. She lifted her head a little and whispered in my ear, "Fake out make out, Danny? Here?"

"Hush," I warned, not getting what she meant.

A look of surprise crossed her face, and she looked at me curiously. I shifted uncomfortably, wondering which un-Dannyish thing I had said or done now, and I really wished people would stop trying to figure me out. If I couldn't do it, they most certainly couldn't either.

Some shouts at the other end of the huge room, voices echoing too much to understand what they were saying. Something clattered to the floor – a chair, I guessed – and then suddenly they left and all was quiet again. I wanted to sigh in relief, but the air that filled my lungs did absolutely nothing, and for the first time I really understood what it was like to be a ghost. Always stuck in the same emotion, in the same obsession, no relief whatsoever for eternity. Suddenly, I hated the place, the dreariness, the oppression of the ghost zone. It was slowly killing me. Not in the sense that my breathing human body would die, but in the sense that it was draining my soul. I wondered if that was what had happened to Vlad.

"Danny," Sam hissed, "They're gone, you know."

I managed to blush as I slowly lifted myself off of her and sat down on the floor. Sam did the same, and we sat for a while, staring at each other, while Tucker kept up his constant stream of muttered technical mumbo jumbo.

"What's wrong, Danny?" Sam asked.

I let out a short laugh, all too aware of the fact that back at Tucker's house out in the real world, people were listening to us.

"What's not?" I asked rhetorically.

I rubbed my itching arm, wondering how to tell her, and wondering how she would take it. Shouts in the hallway, clearly heard through the now open door had us both look up, but the ghosts passed us by and we relaxed again.

"I'm sorry," I said, "I... I would have gotten you sooner. That's what you wanted to know, right? Why did I... run."

"You didn't run," Sam said immediately, "You had no choice. Walker..."

"Yes, I ran," I said, "I couldn't take anymore and I just left you guys to... rot."

Sam opened her mouth and closed it again. "You'd... come back for us."

I shook my head and looked away. On the screen, the numbers were slowing down, stopping every now and then. Tucker was humming to himself. I looked back up at Sam again.

"I don't think that was what I had in mind at the time," I said.

Sam looked confused. Then she shook her head. "I don't understand," she said finally, "You don't think?"

"Hey, Danny, how's it going?" Tucker said.

"M'okay," I said, keeping my eyes on Sam, "Any luck?"

"Sure thing," Tucker said cheerfully, seemingly happy he could do something productive. I knew how he felt, as sitting here waiting for Tucker to figure it out was grating my nerves. I needed to do something.

"What did you mean by 'you don't think'?" Sam asked again, "Why... what took you so long? And I don't believe you if you say you simply chickened out on rescuing us. That's not you."

"Maybe that used to be me," I said, "But now... I'm not him anymore, Sam. I'm not Danny."

Her face turned an interesting shade of pale, accentuated by the green light coming from outside. With the dark eyeliner and the dress she was wearing, she looked ghostly.

"Did you die?" she whispered, "Is that what you're telling me? Are you a ghost?"

I shook my head. "Nah. As human as he ever was, which means not at all. He... Danny... they say I'm him. I... was born two months ago in a cabin about fifteen miles from Amity Park. I don't remember what happened. At all. Nothing. I don't remember you, I don't remember Tucker, my parents, Jazz... nothing."

Sam stared at me. Through the headphones, I could hear several voices trying to make themselves heard, telling me that I didn't make any sense, that they thought I had finally accepted who I was. But if I really was this Danny Fenton, then there was something seriously wrong with me... and I just couldn't accept that.

"But..." Sam said, "But you're here now. Do you... you really don't remember anything? How... what?"

I didn't get to hear what she was going to say though, as suddenly she gasped, clutching her collar. She pushed herself back against a leg of the table, her feet scrambling on the floor, jerking and twitching. She never made a sound though, except for the hissing of her breathing between her clenched teeth. Aragon had obviously decided that she was responsible for all this mayhem and had pressed a button.

"Tucker!" I yelled, "Do something!"

"On it, on it!" he yelled into my ears.

I could hear frantic shouts in the background, and I realized they could see her because I was looking at her. Tears were streaming down her face now, and her eyes had a desperate look in them, but still she refused to scream. I scrambled close to her and wrapped my arms around her, holding her close, trying to somehow comfort her. She continued to twitch.

"Danny make sure the thing stays connected!" Tucker yelled, "She's grabbing the collar, get her hands, don't let her tear the wires off!"

I wanted to scream and shout and cry but instead did as he said, grabbing her hands, forcing them down. She fought me, clawing her nails into my arms and trying to get to the collar that was causing her so much pain, but I wouldn't let her. I hugged her fiercely and wished there was some way for me to take her pain, but all I could do was watch helplessly and saying her name over and over again.

It seemed to last an eternity. Despair almost overwhelmed me. And then it got worse.

On the other side of the room, ghosts were entering, knights in shining – here and there stained – armor, brightly glittering in the pale light. Then the other door to the room opened, the door which I had thought led to a kitchen, and more knights came in, followed by common soldiers. There was no way for me and Sam to hide anymore, not in the state she was in. I just held her and watched them approach us.

"Danny!" Tucker's voice hissed into my ear, "Almost there, almost there..."

It hardly registered. Somehow, I was paralyzed, locked into position by the girl in agony and the ghosts now standing in a semi-circle around me. They all looked at me, but didn't move, and I was just about to wonder what they were waiting for, when Aragon entered. My eyes immediately sought out his right hand, the hand clutching the small device, his thumb firmly on the button.

He was torturing Sam. And smiling.

With a low growl, I tried to get up, only to find the tip of a sword right under my chin from one of the knights. I looked up at him, following the long blade all the way up to his face and his red gleaming eyes. Cuminder. Of all people.

"Well, now," he said, "Methinks these are rather dire circumstances for thee."

I spit out an obscenity at him and he frowned. But before he could answer he was pushed aside by a grinning Aragon.

"Don't get up," he said, sounding almost pleasantly, "I can see you're quite comfortable."

Cuminder's sword was still pressed against my neck, and he pushed a little do draw blood. I couldn't really move without beheading myself, so I just clenched my jaw and held on to Sam, hoping Aragon didn't see the wires or if he did, wouldn't realize their significance. Tucker was saying something, but I really didn't listen to him.

"You bastard," I said hoarsely to Aragon, "You insufferable, arrogant, backward, medieval twit. Leave her alone."

That last part was said with some force, and both Aragon and Cuminder were actually blown backward a little. I made to take advantage of the situation, but one, I still had Sam in my arms, and two, immediately three other knights stepped in, all of them pressing their sword against my neck. And then there was the extra disadvantage of me feeling like I'd just run a marathon. I should be careful with my resources, and I had already taken a beating. Obviously, the healing took some power away too. I wondered briefly if I could redirect that, but it was too late to find out.

Aragon held up his hand and demonstratively lifted his thumb from the button.

Sam stopped twitching and shagged against me, panting. Her left hand grabbed the fabric of my hazmat suit and she pressed her face against my stomach. I stroked her back in a pathetic attempt to comfort her. The relief that washed over me at her no longer being in agony brought a lump in my throat, and for a moment, I couldn't speak. I didn't need to. In my ear, Tucker whispered, "Got it."

Slowly, I moved my left hand up, until it covered the collar. It was humming softly, like before, but then, suddenly, a soft click, and it stopped. The collar was disabled. I wanted to shout in joy and tell Tucker what a wonderful job he had done, but I stayed quiet, trying to keep the triumph out of my eyes. Instead, I bent forward a little and pressed my face against Sam's hair, ignoring the swords that were now cutting into my skin.

"The collar's disabled," I whispered, hoping she would hear it.

She did, because she nodded, an almost imperceptible movement that I would have missed if she wasn't leaning her head against me. Her hand relaxed a little, and she let go of my suit. Then she looked up and wiped the tears from her eyes.

"Now," Aragon said, holding up the now useless remote for the collar, "Get up. Step away from my bride."

I decided to do as he said, mainly because I wanted to get up anyway. I couldn't fight laying on the floor after all. Sam too scrambled to her feet, but instead of moving away from me, she stood right beside me. The three knights had stepped back a little, but the tips of their swords were still uncomfortably close to my neck. Aragon's eyes flashed in anger.

"Step away from the usurper," he said in a dangerous low voice, "You know what happens."

"You," Sam said, "Should seriously consider getting a cat."

Sarcasm was dripping from her voice, and I admired her for the fact that it wasn't trembling at all, even though every now and then a tremor went through her body. Aragon's face turned an interesting shade of green, and I wondered for a moment if that was the color of anger here in the ghost zone, or if he just felt sick. I found out a moment later. He pressed the button.

Nothing happened. Sam smiled sweetly and I turned to her, grabbed the collar carefully with both hands and then snapped it by sending a short ecto blast through it. Disdainfully, I threw the two pieces on the floor, right before Aragon's feet. The wires of Tucker's PDA came loose, and the PDA clattered to the floor beside us. In my ear, somebody hissed as if taking a deep intake of breath. I desperately wanted to do that too.

The expression on Aragon's face was... interesting. His mouth was hanging open, his eyes were bulging so far out that I was afraid one of them might pop out of its socket and his face was twitching. He looked like he had escaped a mad house not too long ago. If ever somebody was pushed over the edge, it was him. Which made him dangerous.

"You..." he said, "You.... You... You..."

"Me?" I asked.

That did it. I probably should have just shut up. Aragon closed his mouth, clenched his fists and started waving his arms, obviously wanting to say something but not quite managing the words. I grabbed Sam and pulled her close, backing away a little.

"Kill them!" Aragon screeched.

The instant he said it, I opened my mouth and wailed. Aragon was blown back, as were the knights that were closest to us, the three knights that had been threatening us with their swords. They tumbled over the knights standing behind them, and all of them fell to the floor in a flurry of armor clad arms and legs and pointy swords. One of them screamed when he was accidentally run through by one of his comrades. All in all, a very satisfactory result. Too bad it almost completely drained me.

My knees buckled, and I would have fallen if Sam hadn't caught me. "Careful," she warned.

I didn't need telling. Quickly, I straightened, desperately looking around for an escape. The knights that had fallen down recovered quickly, and the ones behind my back were moving closer. We were completely surrounded, and I realized that there was no other option than to fight. And it would be a fight I couldn't win.

I grabbed Sam's hand. The knight in front of me charged, and I deflected him with a quickly formed shield. His sword bounced off it, causing a shower of sparks. I was knocked backwards and almost fell to the floor, which most definitely would have been the end but I steadied myself. The headset fell off my head though, and with that I lost my connection to the real world and Tucker's steady stream of words, that, while annoying at first, had also been somewhat comforting. We were alone now.

The knight swung his sword again and I evaded him, barely, still dragging Sam with me. Panic started to rise. I knew it was only a matter of time before one of them got through my weak defense, and then they would cut me down. And Sam would die only moments later. Then I wondered why there was only one knight attacking and I took a good look at him.

Cuminder. Of course.

He grinned at my recognition. I took a step back, remembering how he had cut off the head of the knight that night in Amity Park, the casualness with which he had lifted the head from the imaginary ground and had held it up, and my own detached curiosity. And now he was going to do the same to me.

I wondered if the dreams I had had, the nightmares about being beheaded, had been some sort of premonition. That this really would be the end for me.

He charged.

I screamed.

The scream built, and I held out my hand, letting out the strongest ecto blast I could still muster, but containing it, hardening it, filling it with my ice powers until it started glowing a bright blue. The scream somehow melted with the ectoblast and strengthened it even more, and as I was doing that, I felt the two rings form around my waist, transforming me because I poured every ounce of energy into the blast.

I didn't even try to deflect Cuminder's blow. Instead, I stepped forward, moving inside his range in a move he clearly hadn't expected – because it was suicidal – and moved my hand down. The tip of my half formed sword hit him squarely in the chest, which normally wouldn't have done too much damage to the ghost, if not something unexpected had happened.

A bright green line appeared in his chest, widening, splitting the ghost in two.

My head started pounding and my vision darkened until I could only see what was right in front of me. I kept it going though, kept my sword that wasn't a sword at the quickly expanding opening, pushing the edges apart, and the bigger it got, the more my head started to hurt. I was completely human now, and the ghost zone's cold hit me like a brick. I couched, took a deep breath which wasn't so much relieving but more painful, and then thrust forward, dragging Sam with me, straight through the hole in reality I had just created.

I fell to the floor, hitting the wooden planks with a thud, and Sam fell on top of me. Something wet ran down my face and into my mouth, and its coppery taste told me it was blood. Sluggishly, I turned, pushed Sam off me, and stared at the shimmering edges of the hole, and the stunned faces of the knights in the ghost zone.

The pounding in my head increased. I pushed myself to my hands and knees, crawled to the hole and touched the edge. It bit me, sending a shock through my arm. Close, I thought mindlessly. The hole imploded.

I sank back to the floor. Somewhere, far away, somebody was saying my name, but I just stared at the familiar surroundings. Dark spots were dancing in front of my eyes, growing, until I could...

...no longer...

...see...


	42. Infinity

A/N: This is not a real chapter... more a teaser. Since I've given up on NaNoWriMo, I thought I'd start writing Lost again. And since I've given up trying to bring this story to an end, I might as well post some of what I have. The real chapter will follow... soon. I think.

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**LOST**

**Chapter 42: Infinity**

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The bright sunlight reflected in the lake in the park and I had to squint to see anything. Sounds of people talking, children playing, traffic in the distance. I relaxed, pulled up my legs and rested my chin on my knees. Next to me, laying on her stomach, Sam, staring intently at a ladybug making its way through the grassy jungle. Slight bleeps behind me told me Tucker was doing something on his PDA. It was warm and peaceful and I all but closed my eyes, blocking out most of the glittering lake by trying to see through my eyelashes.

For some reason, we kept sitting there, completely quiet in the midst of the echoing sounds of the world around us. I had a hard time making out anything beyond where we were sitting, as everything was just so unbelievably bright. In fact, now that I thought about it, everything beyond about ten yards seemed to be just... white. Like there was nothing there. And the sounds, they were coming from far away, fading into the blazing background of the non-existing world around me.

The light breeze ruffled Sam's hair, but she was oddly quiet. I looked at her for a while, but she kept laying there, staring at the grass. Behind me, the bleeps had subsided, and when I turned around there was nobody there. I turned back to Sam and bent forward to look at her face, but she didn't have one. She was a puppet, one of those eerie faceless mannequins in the department store, right next to the arcade.

A twinge of fear. The brightness increased. Something was pounding, making the ground shake, growing in strength until I had to clutch my head. The brightness increased. Sam dissolved, the grass that I had been sitting on moments ago – had _felt_ against my hand – withered and died, turning an ugly brown. Flashes in my eyes made me flinch. Then the world exploded and I was sick, hanging over the edge of the bed, puking my guts out.

"Easy now," Sam said.

The green of the ghost zone swarmed before my eyes, and I tried to make sense of what I was seeing. Uneasily, I shifted in my seat, holding the controls of... of... I looked down, but there was nothing there. I blinked in surprise at my bodiless being. No hands, no controls to hold, no nothing. Still, when I looked up, I could see the glass of the windshield, the lights of the dials and meters reflecting in it, mixing with the nauseating swirling outside.

And then suddenly he was there, a huge looming shadow, glowing green eyes, dark at first, but then slowly growing brighter until I had to shield my eyes from the huge white ghost. A voice cut through the zone, booming, making the vehicle I was in vibrate.

"You are trespassing," he said.

I opened my mouth to speak, to answer, to deny because after all, I didn't know, I was there by accident, but no sound came out. Fear gripped me, made me shake, unable to move. I could only blink at him.

"Ignorance of the law is no excuse for breaking it, punk."

His voice broke me out of my trance, and in a low, almost inaudible voice, I started reciting the rules he had ingrained in me.

"Danny, stop that, please."

The voice sounded familiar and I tried to hold on to it, tried to make out what she was saying, but the more I tried to come up with a name, the more it eluded me. I cried in frustration. At some level, I knew I had a terrible headache and was burying my face into a pillow, arms over my head, but the rest of me was strangely detached, as if it wasn't me that was begging to make it stop, make the pain go away. At some point, I even thought I was looking down on myself, lying on a rickety bed in the corner of a cabin, all alone, curled up into myself and making pathetic little sounds.

That wasn't me.

I drifted away, through the ceiling, into the brightness of the world outside, the clear air, the woods, endless, and then higher up. I looked down on the cabin at the edge of a clearing. Paint was peeling off, the door hung loose in its hinges, windows were broken. The sun was burning down on the roof, which explained the stuffy heat inside.

I wanted to breathe in the fresh air, but found that I couldn't. Instead, I rose up higher and looked around. The woods thinned further away, dry hills, a road. Higher up still. A town in the distance, high rises. A plane. Thinner air, the woods became a green blur, the road and the town disappeared, mountain ranges, deserts, sea.

A blue orb. A bright star.

Distances meant nothing. Time was infinite. The star diminished, became first a bright tennis ball, then a pinprick, then nothing.

Darkness.


	43. Resurfacing

A/N: You all did notice the 'chapter 42' Cordria did, right? If you didn't: http : // www . fanfiction . net/s/4506629/37/Nova_Shots (remove the spaces). Go read, it's absolutely wonderful (and far, _far _nicer to Danny than I ever will be :))

I am wondering if I should have left that to be the end, as I seem to be unable to finish this. But there are still some unresolved issues (Vlad...), so am doomed to write this story forever...

* * *

**LOST**

**Chapter 43: Resurfacing**

* * *

"... but he was kind of pathetic of course. Anyway, after he proposed and I said, no thanks, he locked me up in the tower, which is kind of a cliché, but I guess ghosts are clichés by definition. I mean, take the Box Ghost... kinda obvious. And Skulker with his stupid suit... weird though, why would a blob like Skulker want to be a hunter... I could never figure that out. Anyway. Took me a few days to figure out that that way I'd never get out, and you have to remember I thought you had died, so I didn't care either way, so I said I'd marry him, but first there had to be a proper engagement period, and he agreed, and I could roam around the castle. Dora was still there, and we sort of became friends, but she was kind of whiny and complaining a lot, so I couldn't really stand being with her for more than a couple of hours. Did you notice time is really weird there? I have no idea what date it is, do you?"

Silence. Some shrubs were standing next to the trail and the air was shimmering. I blinked.

"Well, you'll have to tell me later then, huh. Right? You'll tell me, right, Danny?"

I tried to make sense of my environment, but I didn't want to look up since the sun was shining brightly and my head hurt. In fact, there was nothing more I'd like to do than close my eyes, so I did, but that was a mistake as I immediately stumbled on some stray branch laying over the trail. Hands grabbed me.

"Oops. Watch where you're going."

She steadied me and then continued on. I followed.

"I tried everything, but if you're not a ghost, there's only so much you can do. I couldn't fly. I managed to reach the outskirts of Armagondia once, but its an island like the others, so I couldn't really go anywhere and I didn't dare just jump off and see where I'd land. Luckily Aragon hadn't noticed I was gone, and Dora smuggled me back into the castle that day... She wouldn't help me escape though. She was too afraid of her brother, and she was powerless without her necklace. But she did tell me that there were ghosts that weren't too happy with Aragon, that they wanted to rebel but just didn't know how and I tried to encourage that. And then we heard you were alive."

I stopped and forced myself to look up, squinting in the painfully bright light. The figure ahead of me took a few more steps before she realized I had stopped following her. She stopped too and turned around. I took in her slightly disheveled state, the torn off skirt – it was high up on her thighs, showing quite a bit of leg –, the tight purple bodice, the frizzled hair and the smeared out black eyeliner.

"Sam?" I asked, her name drifting to the surface of my fuzzy brain.

She stood motionless for a moment, staring at me. "Danny?" she said, sounding uncertain, "Can you hear me?"

I tried to think, but it was like working my way through a swamp, waist deep in murky water, sluggishly trying to make sense of the thoughts and images in my mind. Danny... was my name, I decided.

"Yeah," I said.

Next thing I knew I was being crushed in a fierce hug. I staggered a little, but steadied myself, and then tentatively put my arms around the girl hugging me. It felt nice. I leaned in a little, resting my chin on her head...

_...a ballroom of sorts, completely empty. The floor looked polished, the high vaulted ceiling decorated with images of hunting parties. Five huge chandeliers with candles, their flames lighting the place in a pale glow. At the other end, some abandoned musical instruments, a piano, violin, a harp. The windows showing a green swirling sky outside, the walls decorated with black and purple garlands..._

I gasped and pushed her away from me. The light around me became impossibly bright, and I squeezed my eyes shut and grabbed my head. I seemed to lose contact with the ground I was standing on, felt myself slip away as I battled the flashes and the images that kept coming, seemingly unaware of the fact that I had closed my eyes which should have meant I couldn't see.

_...the ghost in front of me raised his sword, grinning manically behind his visor, and I stepped closer instead of running away, raised my hand and cut him in two..._

_...__the dragon dug his sharp claws into my back and I felt his sharp nails ripping my suit and tear into muscle..._

_...the white knight cut off the armor clad ghost's head in one blow, sending it spinning through the air. It bounced on some imaginary ground a few times, rolled and came to a rest right in front of my feet. Curious, I bent over and opened the visor, only to stare into my own face... _

_...something slammed into me, something cold and dark and infinitely evil. It took control of my hands and feet, and I could no longer move. Frozen on the spot, I just stood there, staring at the door. I felt every fiber of my being tense up as the evil spirit withing me tried out my muscles, blinked my eyes, held up my hands in front of them and curled my fingers experimentally..._

_...a white figure, leaning over me, his black hat shading his eyes. He smiled. "You'll never escape me, punk."_

"Guh," I said.

Somebody was stroking my hair. My head was resting on something soft and warm and a little sweaty, my hand was touching skin. The rest of my body seemed to be laying uncomfortably on some rocky ground, with at least one particularly sharp stone poking my right side. My stomach grumbled. Loudly. Somebody laughed, sounding not so much amused but more a little hysterical.

"Hungry, huh," she said.

I felt myself blush, but I didn't know why. Instead, I moved my hand, trying to find out who exactly I was touching where, and almost immediately realized that it was a leg. And my head was laying on her lap. I could feel part of her skirt on my cheek, and a larger part of leg, too. I opened my eyes.

"S-Sam?" I asked.

The hand kept stroking my hair. "Yeah," she said, a little shakily, "I'm here."

I pushed myself up, let my head hang down for a moment to test if the movement caused any unwanted reaction from it – other than the pounding that was already there – and then sat up.

We were sitting in the shade of some tree, the only tree for miles around, as far as I could see. Thorny bushes were standing close by, obviously struggling to stay alive. Watching them made me thirsty. I cleared my throat and coughed. Then I looked at Sam.

"Hey," I croaked.

The tree wasn't very big, and offered only a few square feet of shade. Sam was sitting with her back against the trunk, and I had been curled up on the ground. Her legs were in the sun, and I could already see they were going to be badly sunburned. She looked hot and sweaty.

"Where are we?" I asked.

Sam shrugged. "I'm not sure," she said, "But I think we're on that plain east of Amity Park. Or in some similar place."

"Oh," I said.

I looked around, trying to process my environment. It seemed familiar. Maybe she was right. Then my stomach grumbled again and a wave of nausea hit me. I looked away from the glaring bright plain and back at Sam.

"How did we get here?" I asked.

She stared out over the plain. "We walked. You... What do you remember?"

I tried to think. I knew there was something, something I should know, but somehow I couldn't find it. The images in my head were all jumbled together, none of them making any sense whatsoever and making me feel sick. I remembered dark places, cold and damp, and I remembered a castle...

"There was a dragon," I said uncertainly.

Sam smiled and nodded. "Aragon," she said, "You do remember."

No, I didn't. I remembered the dragon, but not his name, nor the reason I fought him. I shifted my shoulders a little, but my back seemed to be alright. Maybe it didn't happen, maybe it was all a dream. Some of the things I remembered most certainly had to come from dreams, from nightmares, because there was no way they could be true.

Specifically the one of me hanging five people in some dusty town square.

I shivered despite the heat and tried to keep the bile down my throat. "No," I said after a while, "I don't really remember." I looked at her. "Do you... have something to drink?"

To my surprise, she nodded, bent forward and started rummaging through the pocket in my cargo pants. Then she took out a bottle and I stared at it. Clear glass bottle. Red letters. About half full. I reached out at it instantly, bending forward to take it from her. She leaned back, holding the bottle out of my reach. I stared at her.

"I found this in your pocket," she said. Was that disappointment in her voice? Loathing? Disapproval? "I... emptied it. Threw it out. There was a stream behind the cabin, I filled it with water."

I swallowed. "Water's good," I rasped, unable to quite hide my disappointment.

She unscrewed the cap and handed me the bottle. I took a sip from the warm water and then gave it back to her, allowing her to carefully cap it again. She handed it to me and I put it back into my pocket.

"Why, Danny?" she asked, "Why were you carrying that around? Did you... you weren't drinking that stuff, were you?"

"No, of course not," I said automatically, immediately recognizing it as a lie.

"Then why carry it around? Half empty?" she asked.

I said nothing. How could I make her understand something that I didn't understand myself?

"Danny? Talk to me?"

"Shut up," I said, and immediately regretted it. I looked up into her shocked face. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. It's been..." I frowned. It's been hard, I had wanted to say, but it was just a feeling, not something I could actually remember. Frustrated, I slammed my fist into the ground.

"I can't remember," I said.

Sam wrapped her arms around herself. "No," she said, "_I'm_ sorry. I didn't mean to upset you." She smiled. "I'm just glad you're back."

My stomach grumbled, and again a wave of nausea hit me. I tried to remember when was the last time I ate, but since I had trouble remembering anything that proved to be a very fruitless endeavor.

"I'm hungry too," Sam said, "It must have been two days ago since I ate... and I don't know when you had your last meal."

I shook my head. "Just... tell me what happened after... there was a ballroom of sorts?"

She told me. I crossed my legs with some difficulty, trying to keep as much of me in the shade of the tree as was physically possible. Slowly, my headache subsided, spiking every now and then to remind me to not make any sudden movements or look at my bright surroundings for too long. I kept my eyes on Sam instead, which wasn't a bad place to keep them anyway.

"... and after you closed the portal you just went limp. I couldn't get you to respond at all, and I had no idea where we were. You put us in some sort of cabin, really run down and decrepit. I managed to drag you onto the bed..." She swallowed, then reached out and touched my face for a moment. "You were bleeding from your nose and your ears. And you were just staring straight ahead... if I hadn't felt your heartbeat I'd have thought you were dead."

She took a deep breath. "Anyway. You were there all catatonic and I had no way of knowing if you would ever wake up, but I couldn't leave you. I did find that stream close to the cabin, and two trails leading away from it."

"How long?" I asked, "And how did I get here?"

She sighed, fiddling with the hem of her skirt. "We spent the night there. I could see you were in pain, but after a while you stopped moaning and and you seemed to respond to some things I said... so I tried ordering you to stand up and you did. Then I ordered you to follow me and... you did. But you never said anything, you just kept staring straight ahead as if you weren't really there. You scared me."

She went silent while I tried to process her story. Slowly shifting through the images in my head, the haphazard pile of pictures and impressions, trying to find some order in them, everything started to make sense. I had gone into the ghost zone to rescue Sam. I had... fought Aragon. Aragon was the dragon. I could make portals in reality. But I shouldn't.

"I'm sorry," I said, smiling half heartedly, "Didn't mean to scare you."

I looked down at my hands, folded in my lap. Memories kept piling up, pouring into my mind like a door had opened, and I had trouble keeping my eyes focused on them. Images kept flashing before me, faster and faster until it made me dizzy.

"Danny, stop that please," Sam said.

I closed my mouth with a click, instantly stopping the stream of words that had come out without me realizing I had made a sound. Vaguely, I wondered what it was I had been saying.

"Walker did that to you...," Sam said hoarsely. She put her hand on my hands and squeezed them. I swallowed.

"I'm sorry," I said again.

I looked around. The heat was still there, the dry, rocky hills, the sparse trees and the shrubs. I knew where I was, I had been here before.

"You were doing it earlier, too," Sam said, "Just... reciting the rules. Over and over."

I laughed a little. It occurred to me that we were in the same spot I had landed myself in when I escaped Walker the first time. The trail we were on was the same trail I had followed in those confusing first days of my existence. It was like returning to the scene of the crime, like finishing where I'd started. For me, anyway.

"It's not funny."

I looked up at Sam. She looked worried. "What?" I asked. Then I realized. "Oh. No, that's not what I was laughing about. I just realized this is the same place I ran to when I... abandoned you guys."

"You didn't abandon us, Danny," she said.

"No?" I asked, "Then what would you call it?"

She looked confused and a little hurt. I looked away from her, not wanting to see her confusion. I knew she was trying to see the old Danny, and she didn't like the new one. Detached, she had called me. I sure as hell would have liked to be detached right then, because then it wouldn't hurt so much to see her withdraw herself from me.

"I'm sorry," I said again, randomly.

I wasn't quite sure what I was apologizing for any longer. Maybe for existing. But it seemed to be the appropriate thing to say, somehow. Sam sighed.

"Let's just try and find a way out of here," she said, "How are you feeling? Can you... transform? Fly us out of here?"

Now there was an idea. I should have thought of that before. In fact, I should have known I could do this the first time I was here too, it would've spared me a lot of pain. It would have spared a lot of other people pain too. I shrugged, smiled and reached.

A bright flash, a blinding pain and I was on the ground, curling myself into a ball, whimpering. Sam's frantic voice came from far, far away and I squeezed my eyes tightly shut. On some level I could feel myself sweating and panting, but that too seemed far away.

It lasted an eternity. Almost two minutes. Then, as sudden as it had started, it was gone.

Slowly, I relaxed, unclenching my fists, stretching my legs and my body. I opened my eyes and looked up at Sam. She looked down at me, face expressionless, as if there was no way to express her being even more worried than before. She had simply shut down and waited for me to get better, because it was the only thing she could do.

I licked my lips. Wordlessly, she handed me the bottle and I took a few sips.

"OK," I said, "Maybe not."

She shook her head. "Do you think...," she started.

I shook my head. "No," I said, "This is just temporary. I used too much power."

I'd better. I couldn't imagine life without my powers. I'd be nothing, a nobody, even less than I was before. No memories, no powers... what would I have left? I pushed myself up and stood, steadying myself against the tree. Sam scrambled to her feet too, and together we looked at the desolate landscape.

"Well," I said, "I guess we have to get going if we want to get anywhere."

Both our stomachs grumbled at the same time, and for some reason we both found that extremely funny, because next think I knew was that we were laughing our heads off. After a while I noticed the slight hysterical undertone in Sam's laughter, and I realized I was close to breaking down as well. With some difficulty, I managed to suppress my mirth. Sam stopped laughing too, abruptly. We looked at each other.

"OK," she said, "That was... weird."

Weird was one way to describe it. I opened my mouth to answer her, but I never got out a sound. Something hit me on the head, hard, and I was down on the ground again, stunned. Sam was by my side instantly and turned me around. I shook my head and pushed myself up on my hands and knees.

"What was that?" I asked, a little shakily.

Sam made a strange sound, something between a squeak and a hiccup. I looked up at her, and found her grinning widely at something on the ground next to me. I looked at it. It was a shiny, boomerang shaped thing with small red and green led lights on it. A green one was blinking.

"The Boooomerang," Sam said happily, "They found us!"

* * *

The hatch of the Specter Speeder opened and a woman in a blue hazmat suit jumped out, closely followed by a huge man in a bright orange hazmat suit. They stood for a moment, staring at us, and then the both of them rushed towards us.

My head started hurting again as I tried to place them, and luckily it didn't take me nearly as long as the previous time I tried to remember something. Improvement, at last. These were... my parents. I looked at them as they approached, carefully navigating their way through the thorny brushes and closed the short distance the Specter Speeder had landed away from us. When they had almost reached us, they stopped. Behind them, I could see another figure appearing in the doorway of the strange vehicle. Jazz, my brain supplied helpfully.

We were just standing there, still in the shade of the tree. I had wrapped my arm around Sam's shoulders, and she hadn't pushed me away, which sent all sorts of confusing thoughts tumbling through my head, mixing with the other confused thoughts about my parents. All in all, not a state I liked being in, and I had to resist the urge to simply turn around and run away.

About six feet away from us, my parents halted. We stared at each other for a moment, and then my mother placed her hand on my father's arm as if restraining him. Then she stepped forward. I flinched.

_...my father was holding her up. She looked disheveled, her hair all frizzled, the expression on her face one of pure shock... _

"Mom," I said, letting go of Sam and taking a step back, "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"I know, sweetie," she said.

She had stopped when she had seen me flinch, but now she approached again. From the corner of my eye, I could see Sam looking at us, a strange expression on her face. I looked at my mother again, taking in the apprehensive look on her face. I took another step back.

"Please," I said, "I don't want to hurt you."

That didn't come out right. I had meant to say that I hadn't meant to hurt her, and didn't want to accidentally hurt her again, but somehow it sounded like a threat. My mother stopped again and shook her head.

"I'm not afraid of you," she said, "You won't hurt me, Danny. I'm sorry for all the things I said, I didn't mean them."

"Yes you did," I said.

The words had left my mouth before I could stop them and I blinked. Again, I hadn't wanted to say that. Pain briefly flashed over my mother's face, and I felt both guilty and strangely satisfied. Part of me, the part that was angry all the time and wanted to scream and hit people, wanted to hurt her the way she had hurt me. The other part of me, the part that wasn't bitter and angry, flinched.

My mother shook her head. "I thought I did," she admitted, "But I was wrong... Danny? I was wrong... You're my son. We love you, _I_ love you, and I don't want to lose you again." She swallowed. "Even if that means that you're... half ghost."

I barked a laugh at that statement. Fear and anger were battling each other for dominance, memories kept surfacing – me and my mother watching old videos, my mother, holding my hand when I woke up after having made a mess of the hypnosis thing, her standing in the kitchen, looking sad and disappointed when she discovered I had drunk a few beers – and my feet seemed to have a mind of their own, shifting nervously, wanting to simply bolt.

"Well," I said harshly, trying to keep a grip on myself, "It'll come as a relief to you to know that I managed to screw that up too."

For some reason, it was impossible for me to simply reach out and accept her back. I wanted to, I wanted her to hug me, but somehow I couldn't allow that to happen.

My mother looked confused. "What do you mean?" she asked. Then, when I didn't answer, to Sam, "What does he mean?"

Sam just shook her head. "He tried going ghost a few minutes before you arrived... it didn't work. He said it was temporary..."

Mom looked back at me. "I'm so sorry, Danny," she said, "I'm sure we can work something out. Please, just..."

She looked helpless, and then carefully took a step back, giving me some space. I felt guilty again, so I looked at Sam, and then back at my mother again, somehow feeling that they were forming a front against me. Behind my mother, my father was hopping on his feet, obviously wanting to burst out in some long winded ghost story but obeying my mother in staying quiet. From the Specter Speeder, Jazz now approached.

Suddenly, fear won out. My anger vanished without a trace. I felt very, very tired.

"Sam!" Jazz exclaimed.

She rushed up to Sam and hugged her fiercely. Sam looked somewhat taken aback by my sister's affection, but seemed to accept it. Her presence suddenly turned everything to normal, and everybody started talking at the same time, my mother hugging Sam, my father almost crushing her and then me in a bear hug, and finally my mother ordering us all to the Specter Speeder to go home.

Once in the Speeder, she handed Sam and me some cookies, which we quickly devoured, aided by some cool water from a bottle. The bottle in my pocket I kept hidden, knowing they wouldn't understand anyway, and Sam kept quiet about it too. The two of us sat in the back of the Speeder as it slowly lifted off. Jazz was at the controls, expertly navigating the thing and setting a course towards Amity Park. My father was sitting next to her, chatting happily now that everything seemed to have worked out for the best, oblivious to the tension between my mother and me.

My mother busied herself with inspecting the various wounds on my arms and my back, which were in fact rapidly healing and didn't need all that much attention. She did make me take off my torn and bloody shirt and handed me a new one, apologizing to Sam that she hadn't brought her any clothes, explaining that they hadn't told her parents yet for fear of giving them false hope. She then proceeded to tell us that, after my fight at the castle which had ended with me fleeing through a portal, they had made plans to go into the ghost zone to find us, with the aid of the strange device called the Boooomerang, which apparently was tuned into my ectoplasmic signature, but that they had been unsuccessful in locating me in the zone. Which wasn't surprising considering I was no longer there. Only after a whole day of fruitlessly trying and getting more and more desperate, Tucker had had the brilliant idea to try the real world. The boooomerang had taken off. They had followed it and had found us in less than half an hour. End of story.

Sam then quickly recapped what had happened in the ghost zone, the battle, my fight with Aragon, our flight through the castle. I listened with half an ear, looking out the window, watching Amity Park approach rapidly. I tried to find some peace of mind, tried to find some feeling of closure, but I couldn't. I had thought that by finding Sam, that would be it, and I would be able to pick up my life. Now, I realized, this was just the beginning.

I turned away from the window, to find my mother looking at me. I didn't look away this time, staring right back at her.

"I'm sorry," I said.

This time, I meant it.


	44. Mirror

A/N: Special angst week update.

Reminder: all warnings still stand.

* * *

**LOST**

**Chapter 44: Mirror**

* * *

What followed, were a crazy few days. Within an hour of returning Sam safely to her stunned, but overjoyed parents, we were swarmed by the press, the police, the GIW and child services, the latter there because of my repeated taking off. Luckily, the Mansons quickly took charge of the press, giving out a statement in which they profusely thanked Danny Phantom for saving their daughter and her friend, Danny Fenton, from the ghosts, thereby effectively silencing any anti-Danny Phantom propaganda the GIW might have issued.

The GIW however were very persistent, insisting on talking to the both of us. Again, I let somebody else come up with the story, in this case Sam, and simply followed along by confirming everything she said. Yes, I had foolishly gone into the ghost zone again to rescue my friend, yes, Danny Phantom had saved the both of us, no, I didn't know where he was and no, I wasn't going to try and lure him to them just because they thought he was a menace to society.

Then they tried to get me to accept the injection they had wanted to give me before, and again I flatly refused, aided by the battalion of lawyers the Mansons had flown in, and who effectively threw the GIW out and managed to get a restraining order, keeping them away from Sam, Tucker and me. They left, grumbling, telling us this wasn't over. I didn't care.

The police were not so easily deflected. Detective Raskin kept coming back, asking me questions, mainly, to my surprise, about where I had been after I had managed to escape the very first time. I seemed like a lifetime ago, and I answered only in the vaguest of terms, using my amnesia as an answer to almost every question he asked. He seemed frustrated by that, but there wasn't much he could do about it and with my mother sitting beside me, watching him like a hawk... no, more like a mother bear, ready to tear his head off whenever I so much as flinched, I felt for the guy. He was looking distinctly uncomfortable.

Child services were not so easily deterred. With my recent record of arrests, school attendance and disappearances, they actually had a case. Mainly against my parents.

"Look," Mrs Connely, an altogether nice looking lady with short, brown hair and dark rimmed glasses that reminded me of Tucker, said, "I _know_ you love your son, I _know_ you're doing the best you can to take care of him. That's not what this is about. This is about what _he_ needs. And you may not be able to provide it. Surely you see that, surely you want what's best for him too."

They were talking about me again, with me in the room, just sitting there like I didn't exist. I was sitting on the couch in our living room, elbows on my knees, head hanging and giving off the impression I didn't really care. Which wasn't true. I did care. I didn't want to leave.

"No, _you_ look," my mother said, "He's been through a lot. He needs rest, a familiar environment, the love of his parents. He doesn't need to be put in a home or a foster family who don't know him. We know him. He can always talk to us."

"Has he?" Mrs Connely asked dryly, raising her eyebrows.

My mother swallowed and looked at me. I managed to look suitably guilty, even though it wasn't really me who should feel guilty. For some reason, I couldn't let it go, I had to keep reminding my mother about her rejection of me, I had to hurt her wherever and whenever I could. I felt trapped and miserable, and she was an easy target. I was making her pay. It also made it easier to forget what I had done to her.

"Has he seen a counselor yet?" Mrs Connely continued.

My mother flinched. No, I hadn't. For two days, we'd been deflecting the GIW, the press and the police, not always in that order, and between the constant ringing of the phone, the icy silence that hung in the room whenever me and my mother were both present and Jazz's desperate attempts at mediating, talking to a counselor was very low on my list of things I wanted to do. In fact, I never wanted to talk, or even think about the recent events ever again.

"No," my mother said, "We've had some trouble finding one since the assault on his psychiatrist, Mrs Brown."

Mrs Connely pursed her lips and wrote something down in her notebook. I looked down at my feet, shifting a little, but otherwise remaining quiet, focusing on dealing with the rising anxiety again. If they kept this up, this talking over my head with me in the room, I was afraid I'd explode again, and that'd sure wouldn't do my 'case' a lot of good. The other option would be to burst out laughing at the silliness of their argument, as I pretty much went wherever I pleased and nobody got to put me anywhere, and that would probably be even worse.

They continued on for a while, my mother arguing, pleading, Mrs Connely clinically refuting almost any argument my mother made, and I thought about Sam. I hadn't seen her since we had landed in her parent's garden, except for a short while when talking to the GIW, and that had been awkward. I wanted to know how she was, what she felt, how she was doing, but her parents kept her to themselves. I was just visualizing her the way I had first seen her, in the long black dress, when Mrs Connely unexpectedly addressed me.

"Danny?"

I looked up.

"You've been awfully quiet. What do you think, what do you want?" she asked.

"I want you to leave me the hell alone and get lost," I said rudely.

My mother frowned, but Mrs Connely didn't even raise her eyebrows at that. She must be used to stubborn, uncooperative teenagers, I realized. Maybe I should have toned it down a little. Too late for that now though. I got up.

"Quit trying to tell me what's best for me," I said, "I know what's best for me and taking me away from my family is not it."

I turned and angrily stormed up the stairs. At the top, I looked down at their faces, Mrs Connely looking resigned, my mother looking helpless. I almost rushed down again to tell her I was sorry, but instead I turned my back on them and went back into my room, to find Jazz sitting at my desk.

"You were kind of rude," she said.

"What are you, my mother?" I grumbled, letting myself drop on my bed.

I folded my hands behind my head and stared at the ceiling.

"Lucky me," she said, "Or you wouldn't be talking to me."

"What is that supposed to mean," I said, trying mostly unsuccessfully to keep my tone down, "I talk to mom."

"I mean _talk_," she said, "Not 'pass me the butter'."

I rubbed my eyes. I should talk to her, explain that I didn't mean what I said, that I did love her, but I was scared. My current inactivity – caused by me completely draining myself in order to create that last portal – had left me without a means to blow off steam, to vent some frustration. The tension between my mother and me kept me on edge, kept the demons in my head away, kept me focused. I was afraid that if I let go of that, I'd lose it completely, and the consequence of that...

_A scream of pain... bright colors... faces, looking down on me... my mother, her hair all frizzled, looking... shocked..._

Maybe I did need a psychiatrist. But what would I tell them? Oh, yes, I'm a half ghost who fights ghosts on a regular basis, gets injured a lot, and oh, I almost forgot, a psychotic prison warden, who by the way I destroyed, tortured me to get me to do what he wanted. I would never be able to completely relax, I'd have to watch what I was saying all the time, like I had with Mrs Crown, and look how well that had turned out.

I didn't say anything, but just laid on the bed for a while, waiting for Jazz to leave. When she didn't, I looked up.

"How have you been, Danny?" she asked.

"Alright," I said automatically.

Only two mildly frightening flashbacks these past two days, and nobody had been there for it to see. I was fine, it'd take time, it would fade. I only needed to deal with my parents knowing I was a ghost and Vlad, who was probably pissed I hadn't contacted him. In fact, I was surprised he hadn't shown up yet. Then again, the GIW hovering just outside the perimeter set for them to stay clear of me might have put him off. I smiled and imagined Vlad be captured and tortured by the GIW. If only I could somehow make that happen without Vlad ratting me out...

"Danny?"

I raised my eyebrows and looked at Jazz.

"What are you smiling about?"

I realized I had once again let my emotions come to the surface and immediately let my face go blank. Jazz sighed and rolled her eyes. I stared at her.

"Are you gonna stay here and watch me sleep?" I asked.

She shook her head. "I was hoping we could talk. But..." She briefly looked out the window. "... but of course I'm not qualified to help you, yet."

I rolled and popped myself up on one arm. "Jazz, nobody is saying you're the one who should... 'help' me. That is not your job, I can't expect you to..."

"Darn it, Danny, if I can't help you, then who can?"

I let myself fall on my back again. "There's nothing wrong with me," I said, "Other than a little amnesia which is incurable."

"Mrs Crown said..."

"Screw her. She didn't know what she was talking about."

Jazz got up and looked down on me. "Danny, this is not you," she said sternly, "You never used to be this rude..."

"Exactly," I said.

She opened her mouth, and then closed it again. Suddenly at a loss for what to say, she just kept hovering, obviously hoping for me to expand on that, but I just kept staring at her, making sure my face remained expressionless. She closed her eyes.

"Alright," she said, "Be that way."

She turned around and left, closing the door behind her with a soft click. The brief feeling of triumph I felt at winning this particular battle quickly faded away and left me empty and worn out. When I told Jazz she could watch me sleep, I hadn't really meant it, but now that I was here, all by myself, laying down, sleeping sounded like an awfully good idea. I closed my eyes.

Sleeping. Never wake up. I drifted on that thought. No more pain, no more anxiety. Peace for everybody. If I only... just...

With a gasp I shot up, swung my legs out of the bed and sat on the edge of my bed, fingers clawing desperately in the fabric of the crumpled sheets. My heart was racing, my mouth was dry and I had trouble focusing on the rug next to my bed. I stared at it, hard, willing my eyes to do my bidding, to look at the curly pattern on the edge of the rug, the blue center, matching the walls...

When I had mastered the art of looking at the rug without getting seasick, I looked up, eyes immediately traveling to my former stash of liquor, in the floor next to my desk where the flash drive had been hidden. It was empty now, I had nothing left. Sam had thrown it all out.

Squashing the sudden resentment at her I got up, walked up to the mirror and stared at my pale face, somehow expecting to see tormented, terrified expression on my face. I looked normal. Hair a bit messy, sure, bags under my eyes from lack of sleep, but otherwise I could pass for an ordinary teenager. I tried smiling at myself and apart from the fact that the smile didn't reach my eyes, it looked genuine. I shook my head.

What was wrong with me? I should be happy, ecstatic, now that it was all over. Tucker and Sam were safe, Walker was destroyed... why did I still feel like crap? Why wouldn't the guilt go away, why couldn't I stop looking over my shoulder, why did I jump at every sound? Why did I still feel like I was suffocating, drowning in my crazy, confusing world where nothing made sense, why did I still not really _feel_ I was Danny Fenton?

The boy in the mirror looked back at me. Danny_ Fenton_ looked back at me. Mocked me, sardonic smile on his face, challenging me. _Try and be __me_, he seemed to say, _you'll never make it, you'll never be who they think you are, you'll continue to disappoint them, you'll..._

He shattered. I stared in grim satisfaction at the empty wall. That'd teach him.

Footsteps in the hallway, somebody rushing up the stairs, two people bursting into the room at the same time. I turned around and marveled at the fact that even though my mother had been downstairs and Jazz had been in her room, they still arrived at the same time. My mother must have practically flown up the stairs, or Jazz had been slow. They stared at me, at the floor, and then back at me again. I followed their gaze.

Shards of the mirror, scattered all around me. A red pool of blood, forming right beside my right foot. As I watched, another drop splattered into it. Slowly, I let my gaze travel up my leg to settle on my right hand. Another drop fell from it.

My mother cleared her throat. "Come on," she said, stepping up to me, "Let's get that looked at."

I flinched, but then let her guide me out of the room, leaving Jazz to clean up my mess. As usual.

* * *

I sat on the table in the middle of the lab, holding up my hand while my mother bandaged it, and tried not to look at her. She remained silent the entire time, and the both of us were distinctly uncomfortable. I looked around the lab, taking in the various work in progress, the entrance to the weapons vault and the opening in the wall where the stairs were. Then, finally, my eyes settled on the entrance to the ghost zone and I had to suppress a shiver.

"Can you... are you sensitive to the ghost zone radiation?" my mother suddenly asked.

I shrugged. "Yeah," I said, "I can feel it, even with the doors closed."

"What happens if the door is open?"

I remained silent for a while, contemplating my mother's most recent attempt at talking with me. Somehow, with all the things that had been going on and emotion running high, she hadn't tried to ask me about my ghost powers yet. I shrugged.

"Then... I can feel it better."

"Better how?"

I waved my left hand, an indeterminate gesture that could mean anything from dismissal to impatience and remained silent. I didn't feel like explaining the lure of the zone to her, the connection I felt to it, and my fear of it.

"Danny, please."

I looked at her as she stepped back, and then looked down at my neatly bandaged fist. The cut had been deep, but clean, and my supernatural healing should have done the trick almost instantly, if I had been in full possession of my powers. I swallowed.

"It sucks," I said, "I can't do anything."

My mother's mouth twitched at my mentioning the loss of my ghost powers. I still didn't know whether it would be temporary or not, but it had been days already. Of course, I hadn't really tried anything since that one time out in the desert...

"Danny..."

I looked back at her. She had sat down in one of the desk chairs and looked up at me.

"Won't you try something?"

My _mother_, asking me to demonstrate my ghost powers? I frowned, trying to hide my confusion and suspicion, and was about to retort in a way that would forever put that thought out of her mind – and thereby driving her away from me even further – when something stopped me. I swallowed.

"OK."

I held out my hand – the uninjured one – and stared at it. _Invi__sible_, I thought. My hand flickered out of sight for a moment and except for slight tugging in my head, nothing seemed amiss. I looked up at my mother.

"Have you experienced this... power failure before?" she asked, "Can you tell me about it? How it works? Would you let me... do some readings?" At my suspicious frown, she raised her hands. "I mean to help you. Maybe try and find what the problem is. Find a way to..." She swallowed. "...restore your powers."

I stared at her. "You mean to say you're OK with me being a ghost?" I asked.

She avoided my eyes and looked down at the floor. "I've... accepted it," she said.

"But you're not OK with it."

She laughed a little, and then looked up again. "How can I be OK with my son being hurt?" she asked, "How can I be OK with seeing you in pain, seeing the scars on your body, seeing you so... confused and..."

"I'll be fine once my powers are back," I said. I looked at the door to the zone again. Maybe the answer was in there, maybe...

My mother had followed my gaze. "Danny, please don't do anything without at least talking to us about it first," she said, "I can't... I don't want to lose you. If you feel..." she swallowed, but pressed on, "If you... go in... would let me come with you?"

I remained silent again, and so did my mother. The two of us stared at the doors to the entrance to the ghost zone for a while, and this time the silence wasn't so awkward and uncomfortable.

"No," I said, finally, "You'd better not."

Her face became unreadable. I shifted on the table. "It's..." Dangerous, I had wanted to say, but at the last possible moment I remembered that she wouldn't take that too well. "It's unpleasant... for humans."

Wrong again, of course. I flinched when I saw the shadow pass over her face, a realization that her son was no longer human. Not completely, anyway. She looked away from me, at the portal again, and her face softened.

"You were really in there, when it turned on," she said, "You..."

"Died," I said. I glanced at the portal also. "It doesn't matter. I don't remember." The thought that some things were better not remembered crossed my mind, and I almost laughed. My mother didn't seem to think it funny though, so I quickly changed the subject.

"What happened with that Connely woman?" I asked.

My mother frowned at the sudden change in subject, but then sighed. "We're on probation," she said, "She'll check back with us on Monday."

I did some calculation in my head and came to the conclusion that today was Friday. Then I frowned. "Do I have to go back to school on Monday?" I asked.

My mother shrugged. "Do you want to?" she asked.

No. No, I didn't want to. I did not want to face the crowds, endure their looking at me, endure the distrust of my teachers.

"Yeah," I said, "I think I do." I rubbed my eyes. "What about that shrink she mentioned?"

"Yes," she said, "About that. Did you know Mrs Crown has been released from the hospital?"

I looked up sharply. "Don't tell me she's working again already? It's only been two weeks..."

My mother shook her head. "No. But she asked to see you." She smiled. "I think you managed to make some good impression on her when you visited her in the hospital."

"You know about that?"

My mother nodded. "She called me the next day. Asked if you got home alright."

I waited, but she didn't elaborate. I shifted uneasily, remembering all too well my less than gracious behavior when I had visited her outside visiting hours. I also remembered she had seen right through me, had correctly guessed the state I had been in... had she told my mother? Had she told her how I had threatened her again, a defenseless woman laying in a hospital bed...

Feeling myself go smaller and smaller, I clenched the edge of the table, ignoring the pain in my right hand.

"Danny?"

I didn't look up.

"Why are you acting like there is something I should know?"

Tension was rising again. I suddenly felt trapped, both by my own inability to deal with any sort of situation that didn't involve beating the hell out of people or ghosts and my mother's gentle prodding, stemming from her wish to make amends, to help me. I didn't need help, didn't want help.

I just wanted to be left alone so I could finally sort myself out. I got up.

"Thanks for patching me up," I said. I turned to leave.

"Danny?"

I paused.

"You're welcome."

I took a deep breath, but didn't turn around. Only when I was halfway up the stairs it occurred to me she hadn't commented on my smashing the mirror at all.

_

* * *

OK, so what is this doing here... frankly, I was pushed into doing this, and I caved because it is angst week (and this story is the epitome of angst. Too much of it, imho). I have another complete chapter, and a partial one that by the looks of it will turn into a filler. For some reason, this story refuses to move forward, but keeps running circles around Danny's misery. I'll probably need to do something drastic to pull the poor boy out of it :)_

_I held back this chapter because of the conversation between Danny and his mother. I keep having the feeling that something is missing._

_This is by no means a start of regular updates. I'll do my best to finish the next chapter and push the story into the direction of the intended ending. After that I'll probably have to be coerced into writing the next chapter again. We'll see._


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